


What's In A Dream?

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-03
Updated: 2005-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Krycek's alive and up to his usual. His POV on a visit.





	What's In A Dream?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

What's In A Dream?

### What's In A Dream?

#### by Lashala

  


Title: What's In A Dream? 

Author: Lashala 

Rating: NC-17. Probably not that bad but let's not take chances! 

Keywords: M/K, Slash, Angst, Romance 

Disclaimer: I don't own them but I wish I did. If you don't know what slash is or you're under age, go home! 

Summary: AU. Present time and Krycek's alive and up to the usual stuff. Just his POV during a 'visit'. Right? 

Spoilers: None really. Just a few random bits here and there on the boys' past encounters but definitely after their 'personal' moment. Yeah...the kiss. 

Archive: Sure...but ask first! I've heard some stuff and I don't like being mistreated so I'm going to check on things. 

Feedback: I've got a lot more out there so feed me! If I hear good things, I'll post more but be gentle. This is my first X-Files work and I'm too lazy to watch the show all over so this is all mine, crazy as it is. Holler to me at . 

* * *

Number 42  
2630 Hegal Place  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday - Time Unknown 

I pull the lock pick out and twist the knob; actually snort when the door opens and slip inside. Why does he even _try_? 

Breaking into Mulder's apartment has gotten so easy I should have him get me a flap door instead, so I can come and go as I please. Sure as shit would save him on the hardware charges. I can almost imagine him with a hefty stock share in Home Depot by now. Hell, guys probably know him by name. I bet he even gets Christmas cards thanking him for his patronage! 

It's not my fault. He keeps trying to keep me out and I just keep walking in. Doesn't matter what he does, what he buys, there's no lock I can't pick; no door I can't get in. If I want to. 

Believe me...I _want_ to. 

I shut the door and relock it, walk across the floor pausing to stare down at the fish in the tank. He's added a new one. It's yellow and blue; reminds me of that loopy fish from 'Finding Nemo'. Least it's still alive. May stay that way with a little help. 

I pick up the food, sprinkle some in the water and watch the fish turn into sharks. " _Jesus, Mulder_ ," I sigh. "Can't you even take a moment to _feed_ the damn things?" 

I reach behind and under the tank, feel the bug there and place the jamming device my new bosses gave me next to it. Tonight, I want no one listening in. While I'm here, all the Consortium will get are the sounds of a fish tank gurgling and some pre-recorded channel surfing. If I can keep Mulder from yelling, or shooting me, the jammer will mask the apartment sounds. 

I press the control and smile as a small light flashes once. It's on. So far so good. You see...I'm putting a lot of faith here. My new 'employers' are aliens. Literally. 

I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact I'm now backing up a group of real 'from another world' aliens determined to help us save our planet. They came with others, at first to colonize and conquer. I still don't know what changed their minds but both Mulder and I have dealt with them - me more - and I'm convinced now they _can_ help. They already have...for me. 

Their technology is far ahead of anything we have thus far, the jammer's proof. It creates some kind of interference to audio and visual signals and can be easily programmed to distort or enhance whatever they... _we_ , need it to. 

While I'm here nothing said in this apartment will be heard providing we're not shouting. There's another outside, stationed next to the hidden camera Mulder's yet to find. It's been set to alter my heat pattern (the camera's set to scan infra red as well as normal images and sound) and a special matching device in my watch let's me create a 'blank space' in the camera's recording when I approach; makes me virtually invisible. 

When I got on his floor, I triggered the device. It activated the jammer and generated an image of Mulder's door and the surrounding area, sending it to the camera in a flawless pattern. While I stood there working the door open the device kept my actions, sound and heat pattern stored, 'reflecting' only an empty hall. 

If the Consortium was watching, and I _know_ they never stop, they didn't see so much as a waver, wiggle or glitch on their screens. Good thing too, because that would be all they'd need to come calling. Like I said...so far so good. 

Focusing back, I give the fish a second serving then move to the sofa and settle down with a deeper sigh. God...it's just _too_ easy. I should be bored with this by now but I can't resist the occasional 'mindfuck' with my favorite 'fibbie'. 

Probably since it's the only thing I _will_ get to...well, you know. 

I ease back, flopping a leg over the armrest while I let my fingers (the new ones the rebels gave me back), glide over the old leather. The fingertips on my restored arm are more sensitive than my right hand now, picking up the subtle changes of texture and my lips turn up in a nasty grin. Remnants of Mulder's nocturnal activities. I can't help but chuckle. 

I watch him on those nights - from a secret observation point - hand slick with lube, pumping himself with deep strokes, eyes glued to whatever tape he's popped in for the night run. Watch him arching, hear him groaning, getting himself worked up to a mind-numbing frenzy, crying out when he comes, hot and slick all over his hand; his chest. For a five-finger fuck he can get it done pretty damn good. 

A few nights after watching him, _I've_ left needing a good rub down myself. 

Then when he's done he lies there, tossing and turning on the material like he can't get comfortable. Like the jerk off session isn't enough. Stuff tends to drip off you if you don't clean up right away. Mulder never does, hence the sofa's collection of memories. 

Guess that's all either of us have. Maybe...a few dreams...but I don't want to go _there_ right now. 

I don't know why he doesn't get it cleaned. Or do it himself. All we're talking about is a little leather cleaner, some 'elbow grease' and it'd look fairly new. I mean it doesn't smell (surprisingly), probably all the dust sucks up the scent but it deserves better. 

A sound in the hallway halts my inspection and reflection. I notice two columns of darkness part the light under the outer door. Dependable to a fault; could set my Rolex to him. At least every Friday. 

I lean back draping myself casually, seductively, across the abused material and smile as I hear keys rattle, poke in the lock and count... 

Five. 

Four. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

The door opens and he enters, heel of his polished shoe kicking it shut with a bang. I notice the scuffs on the paint and wish he'd at least _try_ to shut it with his hand once in a while then I notice they're filled; a briefcase in one (guess Skinner rimmed him again on something overdue), Chinese (now why am I _not_ surprised?) in the other. 

He moves toward the coffee table. I move for him and he notices. 

"Wha...Krycek! You son of a bitch!" 

//Yeah. Glad to see you _too_ , baby.// 

He's burdened reaching for me, and I move faster. My new hand grabs his (got to be careful, I'm stronger now) and gently twist it to keep him from grabbing for his gun (like he _could_ with a briefcase, but he's been known to do crazy things), pull the weapon from the holster under his coat with the other and toss it onto the floor. He's not fighting that much, probably hates to drop his dinner. I smell rice...shrimp fried rice. Damn! 

He better _not_ drop it! I'm fucking starved! 

I move in close before he can take a swing at me, keep my grip on his wrist, tighten just a bit to remind him who's got the upper hand, and grin. 

"Nice to see you brought dinner but I also expected flowers." 

He pulls back. This time I let him, releasing his arm and try not to smile too much as he lifts it to press his mouth to the reddening skin, glaring at me. I know it hurts but he'll live. 

"Krycek...what the fuck do _you_ want?!" 

Oh, I couldn't have _asked_ for a better moment and I take it. I grab him again, jerk him to my chest and reach up to grab his hair. I pull his head back, stare into hazel eyes wide in shock; watch those beautiful lips part to yell at me again and I silence them. 

"You!" I snarl and bury my mouth on his. 

He grunts, gags slightly as my tongue slips in, washes against his and I brace for the sharp flare of pain as he bites it off. That's how he's finally going to do me in - let me choke to death on my own blood. He'd do it too. Then spit it out, pickle it in a jar and set it in front of me as I die. 

Considering I'm stupid enough to give him a chance I guess I deserve it. 

He doesn't though. Instead, and to _my_ surprise, another soft bit of flesh brushes it, flicks against it, before a violent force tries to suck it off. I grunt as a hand wraps my back, crushes me to _his_ chest and suddenly the tables feel turned. His briefcase hits my foot and I don't even care. Something warm bumps my back and I realize he's still holding onto the bag of food. 

He's trying to swallow my tongue, my damn tonsils and I want to let him. Hands slide up my back, move like snakes, one tangles in my hair, nails scraping my scalp and I don't try to fight it; the other wrapping my ribs like a vice, the bag of Chinese bumping my hip. His tongue's white-washing my mouth, kissing me like he hasn't been kissed in... Oh god, no! Not even _this_?! I've gotten a kiss once or twice recently, in passing, but it was nice. 

I feel sorry for this man. I really do. 

Then I hear groans, moans of raw need, desire; want so bad it makes my balls jump up and try to push into my gut, up through my lungs to roll out my mouth onto the floor. Takes a moment for me to realize _I'm_ the one making the sounds. 

Did _I_ say something about pity?! 

He pushes us apart then, eyes dark, raw, yet a full spectrum of emotional light runs in the near black orbs I can see even in darkness. Need. I know mine look worse and I steel my expression into something less vulnerable. Cool. He sees it and shifts back just a hair more. 

I think he's surprised by himself; startled by his actions. I could have a blast with this but it's enough he let me kiss him. We've played some nasty mind games on each other in the past - me on him more - and I'm sure he's waiting for me to toss out the next round. I'm not going to. Instead I just stand and wait. He's going to do something with this I'm sure. What, is still pending. 

His lips, moist and slightly swollen from our 'spit swap', turn up in a sneer. "Why are you here, Krycek? Checking on the Consortium's 'little toy'?" 

Check. Knew it. It still hurts, hearing him say that with such hate, vehemence in his voice, but he doesn't know I switched sides. Now's not the time to tell him. He wouldn't believe me. Maybe never would. I try a different tactic. Locking my eyes on his, I soften my face and murmur with all the sincerity I didn't know I had. 

"You're no one's _toy_ , Mulder. _Never_ have been." 

Checkmate. His eyes widen slightly as he gasps. 

No, he hasn't been and he'll never be. That much is true no matter how much someone may _want_ him to be. They've tried time and time again; put him through hoops no one else would jump and he's taken it all. And survived! He's damaged, imperfect in places after such harsh use, but like an antique his value increases. I realize my thoughts are a bit heavy on that subject and I shove them in a dark corner of my mind slamming the door shut. 

He stands there for a few moments, drawing in air then tips his head to look at me. Really looks at me and my left hand. "See you got another arm, huh?" 

Um, that's better. _That's_ my Mulder. About time. I was starting to worry. He just tried to kiss my lungs out and now he drops into an inquiry. Dismisses the smooch as if it never happened. Probably to him it didn't. Wish I could honesty feel the same. 

"Yeah, I'll tell you later. What's in the bag?" 

Who says I _can't_ play too if you push me hard enough? 

He walks past me, those lips quirking up in a mysterious smile that makes me turn to watch him. I notice he walks past the gun and takes no notice of it. He moves into the kitchen, puts the bag down on the table then begins tugging off his coat, the holster, dropping both on the back of a chair at the kitchen door. He slips a finger through his tie and starts to tug it loose. 

As he moves around, I bend down, pick up the briefcase and the gun. I click on the safety and lower the case onto the coffee table. I'm probably crazy but I follow him in and hold the gun out to him. Someone's got to try to make peace. 

Guess I'm the asshole. 

I'm taking a hell of a risk, he's got every reason to take it and plug my ass. We both know it. He stops moving, watches me approach carefully. Can't blame him for that either. He stares at my hand, the gun, then up to my face. I _try_ to keep the smug off it, leave it open and willing, a visual 'white flag' waving in the breeze. I must do a pretty good job as he takes the gun, looks at it carefully and I draw in a slow breath. My last? 

Well, I got to kiss him. Again. How many people can go out on a memory like that? 

I'm standing there, knowing it could all go to hell but I'm willing to walk in first. Besides, I've been there. Too many times. Getting to think I may have a permanent room when time's done so what difference does it make who puts me there first? In truth, I think I've _always_ known who'll be my Grim Reaper. Considering how gorgeous he is I guess I can't complain. 

After a few breaths he shoves the gun into the holster and turns for the cabinets. "I got you an extra rice. Want a plate?" 

// _What_?! Oh god, he _couldn't_ have said that!// I decided to come here at the last moment. He _couldn't_ have known! What's going on here?! "Um... _what_?" I whisper nervously. 

He turns back, looks at me again with that strange expression, an enigmatic smile I can't decipher for once and that scares me. "I _got_ you some _food_. You want a plate?" 

//Holy shit! He _did_ say it!// 

I know I'm standing there looking stupid. I _have_ to be. I _feel_ stupid. I'm used to us hammering away at each other, him more on me, and this is a surprise. Somehow I get a grip, recover and try to roll with it. 

"Um, n-nah. Carton will do. Got...chopsticks?" 

I hate the slight squeak in my voice and hope he missed it. That smile's still there as he opens up the brown bag, reaches in, pulls out a quart container and slides it across the table to me. 

"I thought...um, you might want to take some...with you." 

'Take it where?' I start to say. 'This is the only home I have, such as it is' but the words don't slip out. That would be telling him _too_ much and _I'm_ usually very careful what I dole out in that department. Instead, I move over to the sink; surprise him when I turn on the tap and start to wash my hands, grateful he's still got some dish liquid left. The sink's noticeably empty. Guess he ran out of plates and actually washed up. 

Fox Mulder. Personas domesticus. Wish I could have seen it. Bet he looks cute with an apron on. And nothing else. 

Shit! I _really_ need to get a grip here! 

I soap my hands up good and rinse well. I may be scum but I'm _clean-eating_ scum. Besides, I've gotten in the habit. I've washed my hands a lot over the years. In my line of work...well, let's say they tend to get messy. _Often_. 

I turn off the water, realize there's no paper towel roll then see a dishcloth hanging in the air. I take it from him, dry my hands and hold it back out. He takes it, that annoying smile still plastered to his face and I suddenly want to smack it off but check the urge. Moving to the table I pull out a chair, swing a leg over to sit and reach for the container. He slides a packaged pair of chopsticks over to me. On a second thought I reach for my wallet. 

"Ah...what...what do I owe you?" 

It's a loaded question. _Really_ loaded and we both know it but I'm still willing. Yeah, I _can_ be magnanimous when I try. Mulder merely keeps that strange smile on me. 

"We'll sort that out...later." 

I glance up but he's turned from me as he moves for the sink yet the voice, the words, were soft, gentle; that monotone I've come to know too well saying something I can't seem to catch. What is it with me today? I'm a bit slow to notice he's washing _his_ hands now. His back's still turned but the tips of his ears are red. 

//It's okay Mulder, I know your grooming habits, all three. Shit, Shower, Shave. Anything else, you give as a bonus to yourself.// 

I grab the package, tear off the paper and breaking the chopsticks apart rub the ends together for a moment. It cleans off any wood flakes. I've learned to be careful. I got a splinter one time. Stuck right up in my gum against a tooth. Damn thing got abscessed and drove me close to shooting my own toe off just to put the pain someplace else. 

I was rough those few days, kicking any ass that came near me and running out of dental floss too quick. Couldn't get the fucking thing out. Finally I wound up in a late night dentist's office with my gun shoved in his gut warning him not to hurt me too much. 

I have a _thing_ about pain. I suppose getting one's arm hacked off in a cold distant land with a hot knife and no anesthetic can do that to a person. Anyway he took care of it, got it out. I didn't loose the tooth, kept the treatment file and he lived with only a strong warning he'd never seen me - and a cash payment _well over_ what was due. 

Oh, Mulder hitting on me? Well _that's_ a different kind of pain. Like hitting your 'funny bone' - kind of hurts, kind of tingles, kind of feels... _interesting_. 

Yeah, I'm a sick puppy. So's Mulder. We fit...in a sick way. 

I hit the pause button on my musing as Mulder turns around and pulls out the chair across from me. He settles down and lowers his tie on the table. I didn't even see him take it off. That's really stupid...he could have had it around my neck by now. I've got to pay attention. He opens up his chopsticks, scrapes them together then lifts up his carton and toasts me, "Bon appetite!" before he digs in. 

For a moment I watch, wondering if mine's drugged then realize he's had no time to plan, prepare for me to be here. Regardless of what he said earlier he wasn't expecting me. I'm not one to ring up before a visit. Nah, he probably had this saved for later. Right. Shrugging inwardly, I lift up my carton and nearly bury my face in it. 

I know he's watching me eat, like a starving man with a banquet placed before him, and I am. I haven't eaten in a while, too busy running from the Consortium. I did some things - took out a few of their boys like I was asked to - and now the hornets nest is stirred up. I'm _pretty sure_ they know who's been throwing the rocks too. I needed to run before I got stung bad so I went underground again, hiding low in one of my safe places; trying to keep my head and my ass above water until I reconnect with the rebels. When it comes to the _really_ bad guys you better learn to tread fast and long. 

As to _my_ bad behavior...well, compared to _them_ I'm still a rookie on the roster - bench-warming while the seniors take the shots. 

I keep eating, the carton lifted close to my mouth so I can quickly fork it in with the sticks. I'm pretty good at this (I've eaten the real stuff in Hong Kong) so I'm doing really well when Mulder coughs. I look up pausing and he grins at me. Oh shit, don't tell me I got something hanging from my mouth? 

He blushes (Mulder blushing? At _me_?), and sighs, "I...I forgot. I...ah, I got beer. Do...do you want one?" 

//I...um...whoa.// I don't know how to answer. This is getting kinda...weird. I mean he's being... _nice_. Before he turns on me I manage a response and toss it out casually. Like we're too old homeboys hanging out before the game. Like I wish. 

"Um, what kind?" 

"Heineken." 

I already knew. His primo favorite. He's predictable like that. 

"Yeah. That'd be cool." 

He grunts and rises, turns to the fridge, opens the door and starts hunting. It's all for show. There's not much in there and what is I wouldn't touch no matter if I hadn't eaten in months and my ribs were trying to poke out through my flesh. 

Ever seen inside Mulder's fridge? There're some cartons, containers in it that haven't seen the light of day in months - the contents even longer - along with some stuff that may have once been fruit. In other words, it's Frankenstein's fucking lab on ice. 

He turns back, holds out the beer and I can't resist asking. "When did you get this?" 

His expression darkens, eyes going tight and I know he's pissed but I've got to know. I've seen his fridge. It's a biohazard the CDC's just _waiting_ to hear about. He glares at me wagging the bottle. "I bought it _last night_! Now do you want one or not?!" 

//Geez, Mulder. You go by the store to buy beer but not groceries?! Not even milk and cereal? You've got some _serious_ priority issues, baby.// 

"Yeah, yeah. That's fine." 

He stares for a moment then turns and starts rummaging in a drawer. Finally he finds a bottle opener, pops the cap off and holds it out to me. I take it and put a real smile on my face to cut the real tension building. "Um...thanks, Mulder." 

I lower the beer next to my carton and sigh. Shrimp fried rice and beer. Chinese food. It affects me sometimes, I don't know why. I can guarantee you, someone's going to drive away tonight with the windows rolled all the way down and damn the cold weather. 

Where Chinese food is like Kryptonite to me, it's high octane rocket fuel to Mulder and he's a Stealth Bomber. I'm not shitting you, he _lives_ on the stuff. It's at least a meal in his life...well, everyday. Unless someone else buys. 

For a moment I wonder what he'd do if I cut a good one in here - a loud raspberry fart with all the trimmings. Probably shoot me. Then I think about his fridge, the fumes that must be coming off all the stale shit in it and I know tonight I'll hold anything back 'til it kills me. One good mix of gases in here and we could both get blown up _without_ a bomb. 

I don't realize how much I'm grinning at that, don't hear my chuckling until I notice he's standing there staring at me, confused and a bit ticked. I manage to sober up and lift the beer with a broad, peace-making grin. "Thanks, Mulder. This is...good. Cheers!" 

He's still staring but offers a curt nod as he settles back in the chair, grabbing for his own carton. I force my focus back to my food. 

We finish eating in silence and I start to rise to dump the carton but he reaches out and takes it from me. He notices it's empty. I _said_ I was starving. Now that I've got a full belly I lean back, rub my stomach and burp loudly. It's a compliment in some places and I want him to know I appreciate it. He misses the whole thing and glares at me again. 

"No smoking in the apartment." 

Fuck! He remembers. The Morleys. Shit! I gaze off at the living room and nod. "I know. I was just stretching. Besides... _I quit_." 

That earns me a real stare. A surprised one and I decide to tell him a little info. "It's not good for your heart, Mulder. And since everyone's gunning to stop _mine_ , why do them any favors?" 

I turn my back, walk into the living room, flop down on the sofa and assume a hurt pose. It's not hard 'cause I _am_ hurt. 

A few minutes ago we were sitting together, eating like back in the good old days - before he found out about me and the Consortium. Back when I was the rookie agent following him around like a wobbly-legged puppy. Back when all he knew was a bad haircut, worse suits and a neophyte nature. For a few moments it was good, sitting around like two old buds. Okay, maybe not and we sure weren't shooting the shit, but we weren't trying to kill each other either. 

You don't know how much I _miss_ those days. 

Like the time we had lunch together. It was after he'd tried to dump me off yet another case assignment. _After_ we were already on the road. He didn't want me there, resented my being assigned to him in place of Scully. He didn't know why I was there and I didn't tell him then. I thought I was doing the right thing; what I'd been told I was supposed to do. For my country. I was wrong. But that's another story. One that's still being written and maybe the end will be better than what I fear. 

Anyway, back to the drive. 

He was arguing with me, said I lacked the conviction to work with him. That wasn't it at all. Not by a long shot. What bothered him wasn't my being a 'Doubting Thomas' like old Red was because I wasn't. I _believed_. I had reasons to already. No, what bothered him was that I had begun to question _his_. 

So there he was, trying to shut me out and I lost my cool, yelled I didn't like being ignored. I was still pouting and pissed when he pulled up to a roadside deli and suggested we grab some food before continuing onto the case. Looking back, I guess he wanted to make up. 

_I_ wanted to be a dick. 

I didn't want to get out, sat there with my arms folded over my chest calling him every shitty word I could think of in my head until the smell of food caused my stomach to veto my pride. Finally I crawled out giving the car door a good slam just to be pissy. What the hell did it matter, it was one of those requisitioned Fords they always doled out. Had it been a Ferrari or a Porsche - hell, even an Infinity - and I've have bowed before it. I really hated those old cars. 

I turned to face him, hoping he'd start something so I could be crass. He didn't do anything more than throw me a smug 'superior agent' smirk then turned and walked into the deli; me following behind even more disgusted. At _both_ of us. 

While Mulder folded that lanky frame into a booth I trudged off to the john to take a piss. Washing up I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes are green, a deep green. I remember the effect they had on girls at school. I got a lot of class notes using them. Add the long thick lashes they used to be so jealous over, blink some, smile, and there wasn't a skirt that didn't trip over her pom-poms for me. My features are still boyish, that somewhat androgynous look that's all the rage on the New York runways. It makes me look young. _Too young_. 

Perfect. 

I take in the over-gelled hair, the tacky tie, baggy suit and realize just what _he_ sees - a 'wet behind the ears' kid probably pulled into the Bureau on behalf of some poor old dad trying to see his boy make good. If Mulder only knew the truth... 

Well, if he did I'd be dead. 

Sighing, I steel my expression back to 'pissed off junior agent', and shoving the towel into the trash head out. 

So there I was, slouching in the booth across from him barely eating my BLT when this girl walks over and lowers a mountain slab of apple pie in front of me, already covered to go. She leans in, pecks me on the cheek, murmurs 'happy birthday' and vanishes. It _was_ my birthday but I didn't tell a soul. 

Looking up stunned, I see Mulder's sitting there with the makings of a 'cat eating canary' grin forming on his face. "Let's go," he says. I rise, confused, looking around to pay the chick, digging for my change and he grabs my arm and hauls me out with a 'happy birthday, kid'. Believe me... _no one_ knew. Mulder went _looking_. 

Hell, even my mom forgot it one year. The one just before she died. Before the Consortium killed her and owned me. They'd already taken my dad. 

Oh...yeah. My birthday's March seventeen; St. Patty's and no, we never celebrated it. My parents were young Russian immigrants, fleeing Khrushchev and everyone else. When they got here they adopted certain traditions and holidays, mostly Christmas (it was forbidden in Soviet Russia) and July fourth (we were Americans now) but other holidays didn't matter as much. We never celebrated the holiday part and I look like a shit in green anyway but _Mulder_ thought enough to bother. 

Yeah...I miss simple days like that. 

Anyway, I walk out with my pie and a sheepish expression on my face. I want to say thanks, really, apologize for my piss off but I'm scared to. Maybe that's not what he's into. Maybe I'd look wimpy to him; confirm the junior aspect too much to ever meet his approval and _approval_ from him...was what I desperately wanted. 

You see...I really did admire him. Still do. Despite everything we've been through, he's done to me and vice-versa, I still do. I wish...I _really_ wish I could change it all. I needed... _still need_ that approval more than Mulder will ever realize but right then I was truly lost. 

So I sat back in the seat and went quiet as he starts rambling about the case while he gets us back onto the road. 

I'm stunned by his kindness. Guess that's when I started to realize I like him. Really like him. I even ended up sharing the pie with him later, both of us sitting in the car licking fruit off our fingers and laughing like old pals. 

I think we made peace after that. He actually started to let me in on stuff, asking for my opinions, views on the cases we were on; listening to me, dropping a lot of the negativity to having me there. Hell, he even offered some support to me when I shot and killed my first man. To save him. 

Then I fucked it all up. 

I gave Mulder a ride one day, forgetting that the ash tray was full. He noticed. Noticed more the brand that was in there. Morleys. The same smokes our mutual enemy, the man we refer to as 'the smoking man' or better 'Cancerman', likes to choke on. By then I'd started the double-dealing, the spying, all the shit he hates me for now. He'd already begun to get a taste for what was really happening by then but the cigs confirmed it. In that moment Mulder realized who my 'real' boss was, what I was really all about and that, as they say, was that. 

Getting back to this... 

I sit on his sofa aching inside. I'm hurt because I waved the flag and he actually lowered his guard - let me approach and make my offering. For a few beautiful moments we had a cease fire. It was nice and he just _had_ to fuck it up! 

Okay...maybe I _am_ making a bit more of it than necessary but I'm _trying_ here! Yes, I _did_ take his gun from him and yes, I _did_ get in his personal space there but I didn't want to get shot before I could even try to talk to him. As to the kiss...well, I can't really explain that. Not that I want anyone to know. Still, it was _nice_ and now... 

I think he realizes it 'cause I hear him dump the cartons into the trash then he's standing in front of me, hands jammed into the pockets of his Armani pants and a black-shoed toe working into the rug. 

"I'm sorry, Krycek. I...ah, I _think_ I've got an ashtray somewhere. I...I could open a _window_?" 

Didn't he hear what I _said_?! I quit, although I guess he's thinking I'm pissed enough to start again. Honestly, I _would_ if I had a damn pack with me but I'm clean. Well, he did offer an olive branch to my flag so I let him off the hook. 

"I'm fine, Mulder. Thanks anyway." 

I lift off the sofa and walk towards the door. I wanted to fuck with him but now I just want to leave. My mood to mess is messed up too much to try anymore. He wins this one. I murmur over my shoulder as I grab the knob. 

"Sorry I bothered you. Don't know why I came here. In case you're wondering, I _didn't_ come to plant anything. Not _this_ time. I...I don't know _why_ I came here and I'm sorry for that um...ki-kiss. I...don't know what got into me." 

Yeah, I _do_. _That's_ why I'm leaving. I have to face facts...no matter how much I may want something there are _some_ things I'll never, ever get. 

What the hell do I mean by _that_? Jesus, isn't it _obvious_? 

"Thanks, Mulder. Thanks for the...food." 

I twist the knob, feel the door open and he's there, hand pressing the wood, pushing the door back. I look up, see that strange, undecipherable smile on his face again and I freeze. He's... _smirking_? At me? 

" _Nothing's_ gotten into you, Krycek. Not _yet_ , that is." 

What? What did he say? 

My look must have said a lot as he pulls my hand off the knob, toes the door shut locking it again - such as he can with what I've left - and pulls me back towards the sofa. I follow him, dumbly staring at my hand in his until he turns me around pushing my shoulders. My knees bend on their own and I drop down onto a cushion. He reaches down, picks up the remote, stuffs it into my hand then heads into the kitchen. He's back a breath later with his tie, coat and turns for his bedroom. 

"See if there's something decent to watch on TV. I've got to get outta the monkey suit." 

That turns up my lips a bit then he's in the doorway peeking back out. "You gonna be here when I get back?" 

Like I could _go_ somewhere. My knees feel like jelly and my gut's telling me I'm going to regret rice and beer in a few hours but I manage a slight nod. "Yeah, Mulder. I'll be here." 

That seems to satisfy him and he vanishes behind the door closing it. 

I'm tempted to go over and peek at him but it's been a weird hour already and the possibility of seeing him wearing a thong or something crazier is not what I'm up to. In fact...I'm not _up_ to anything. All my plans for being here vanished when he offered me a meal and now I feel like I'm on a first date ? Mom and Dad sitting there wondering what my intentions are on their little baby. 

Believe me folks, I'm thinking that _I'm_ not the one you need to be worried about right now. 

I thumb the remote button, idly surfing for something. It's been a while since I actually had time or interest in watching a show and I'm damned if I can remember what's on at this time of night; much less what channel. I happen to think about 'The Invisible Man', realize it's been off The Sci-Fi Channel for some time (and a damn shame, you know?) when the bedroom door opens. 

Mulder walks out wearing a pair of gray sweat pants and a short-sleeve white t-shirt. Let me say this now...at six feet, a sleek one-seventy, this body could make burlap a new fashion statement. Those lean hips, swimmer's hips balance the sweats just right; that 'hip-hop low' a pair of boxers would show off nicely. I get the impression of some ab-work under the shirt and smile inwardly. He's been working out. _Nice_. His feet, those big feet, are bare and make a soft 'whapping' sound as he walks to me and reaches out. 

Yeah...I _know_ what they say about big feet, I've got 'em too. _Big feet_ , I mean. I... Oh, fuck it! I'm pretty big there too, _okay_?! 

"Let me hang up your jacket, Krycek." 

My mental needle must have skipped because he had to say it again, wagging his hand for emphasis. "Krycek? Your _jacket_? Let me hang it up." 

//I don't...I...// 

The hand wiggles again and I nod dumbly. "Um...okay." 

I lean forward, shrug it off and hand it to him, watch him fold it over his arm gently like a coat-check girl in a five-star restaurant then turn to walk to the closet. I _know_ he can feel the weight of the gun in the inside pocket but he doesn't say a word nor does he even look for it. Instead, he opens the door, stepping back fast as a few boxes threaten to fall over and manages to find some space and a free hanger. I grin as he slips it in and closes the door quickly. 

He turns back, runs a hand through that gorgeous brown hair and casting his eyes off, grins embarrassed; maybe relieved they didn't fall over. We both know what's in the boxes. I peeked in them a long time ago. 

//Don't worry, Mulder, I've seen everything in this place. _Everything_. Your secret's safe with me.// 

What's in the boxes? His video tape collection. Porn. A few DVDs have been added recently. Oh and folks, there ain't a single lady in the lot of them. Uh huh, that's right. Mulder's gay _and_ an FBI agent. I know. _I'm_ still the first and was once the latter. 

Okay, _now_ do you understand the obvious? See why I come here? Yeah...thought you might. 

Yes, I'm attracted to him. Have been. Since day one. Definitely since I saw him in that damn red Speedo. Maybe...maybe he's feeling the same. About me. Maybe. See why I said the secret's safe? No one would believe me anyway. Well, maybe his partner Scully would. Righteous bitch. Sure she knows. Besides, he's never put the make on her so she _has_ to know. 

Let me amend that. He _did_ kiss her once. It didn't work. Then she dropped her drawers on him and that failed too. I'm not surprised about the kiss but the last did shock me. I found out all about it one night when Mulder was drunk. 

He was at one of the local gay clubs on the outskirts of the capital area - little section that caters to us with pretty simple rules: keep it low-key, don't create a scene and the place stays open. We're not exactly welcome in the heart of the 'conservative right'. 

I was following him that night like always. I got sidetracked by a pair of dicks that tried to boost my Lexus for some cash. By the time I took out the punks in an alley (Hey! You _don't_ mess with my ride!) I'd lost Mulder. 

Thanks to the bug, I'd listened in to his conversation before he left. He was talking to Scully and it sounded like another night he needed to brood. Didn't know what she said and didn't care but Mulder was obviously down as he hung up. He didn't even change; simply grabbed his keys, his coat and climbed into that pitiful ride of his (boy needs some _serious_ wheels) and headed out for the club district. 

I followed him, watched him park in a garage. I parked on a street a few blocks back. It's easier to get away when you don't have to round too many turns. Anyway, no sooner than I park, these two scraggly-bearded pricks come up and tell me to bail outta my ride. They've got knives. I've got a Beretta and a Sig. 

_You_ do the math. 

Anyway, I'm suddenly being waved out of my car, one of the pricks mumbling something about a 'pretty boy like you's just gotta have some green on ya'. It's perfect. I go into the terrified citizen routine, backing up towards an alley begging them not to hurt me and just let me get to my wallet. They follow me in. They're greedier than smart. Stupid shits. 

So I pull out my wallet - the kind that's way too large and looks all impressive. The kind you see those fancy-pants execs wearing on TV and make like I'm hunting for the cash. It looks fat but it's all dollar-sized pieces of paper. Stuff it full and it diverts attention so I can do what I need to. The Beretta's in a pouch on the left inside hidden pocket facing me (I'm right-handed, get it?). It's specially made with a built-in silencer. My actual wallet's in a lower pocket on my right. 

I'm lucky, they're so busy drooling at the 'dough' they don't think to take the wallet from me. Last fuckup they make. Two quick shots and _I_ think it's over. My bad. One's on the ground, shot right between the eyes; the other one's still standing, mouth opening on a scream. He moved away before I could fire. I just nicked his head. 

I'm pissed. 

I react fast, jerk the knife from his numb hand and slashing quick open his throat. I manage to move from the spray and he's down. Only there _wasn't_ a spray. I look closer and he's lying there, hand over his throat, blood oozing out between his fingers and he's gurgling; slowly choking on it. Fuck! He jumped when I moved for him and the slash cut the artery enough to open it but not enough to kill him outright. It's going to take him a while to die. 

I'm _not_ having a good day. 

I stare at my left hand. The alien rebels (the ones that _don't_ want trouble) gave it back to me. Some of 'em are healers. They can do amazing things. It's strong; far stronger than the one I was born with. The one the peasants saw fit to hack off me in Tunguska. It's not cybernetic or shit like that (no Six Million Dollar Man here, please!). No, it's real. Mine. I...I re-grew it. 

No. I...I don't want to go there right now. Suffice to say me, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and a host of others have been...lab mice. I _still_ have freaky moments remembering what happened. It hurt. A lot. 

I hear a hacking sound and remember where I am. The dying one. I focus back on my arm and realize I could kill him quick. One squeeze and I'd crush his neck bones to powder but he's bleeding all over the place. My gloves are _Ralph Lauren_ for crying out loud. I paid a lot for 'em! I'm not getting them messed up for anyone! 

I look into his eyes. They're wide in shock and terror. I think he understands - I'm going to be the last face he ever sees. I don't know why but I feel sorry for him. Like someone that's seen an old dog in the street and knows it's time to put him down. In a kind, merciful way. The thought turns up my lips in a soft smile and he knows. He knows. 

As I bend down, he tries to speak, mouth opening slightly but nothing comes out except blood and a strange burbling sound. I press the silencer right over his heart and squeeze off the shot. The blood pumping out his neck turns to a drip. I'm amazed. 

I didn't know I had it in me. 

I squat down and pat up the bodies, find a wad of hundreds on one, a joint on the other. Not bad. They must have been on a run and decided to finish up with me. Sad. Still, this _was_ a robbery attempt so why not go with it? Someone _is_ getting robbed it's just not me! 

Now that I'm right over them I notice they both stink and not from death. Guess they haven't bathed in a while or they both shit before I killed them. I'm glad I _wore_ my gloves. No place to wash up here and believe me from what I smell, I'd need to. Least they're not bleeding on them. 

Curious, I grab 'Cut Throat's' arm, push up the sleeve on a White Sox sweatshirt and find needle marks. Guy's arm looks like a 'connect-the-dots'. I don't check 'Three Eyes'. Got a feeling _his_ will look worse. I shiver in spite of myself. I've been drugged. Often. And with stuff I'd really rather not know about. Just be assured, I did some _messy_ things because of it. I'm through with that now. If it's more than weed, I leave it! 

I stuff the bills and joint inside my hidden pocket and stand up. As an afterthought, I toe 'Three Eyes' over on his side and he kinda half falls over his pal, right into the pool of blood. Next, I take the knife, wrap his hand over it then let it fall casual between them. I take the Beretta and slide it into the blood, near his fingers. Next, I take his free hand and slip it up to press 'Cut Throat's' face. 

I step back and admire my handiwork. It might actually fool the cops - a murder/suicide. A couple that can't go on...a love pact. Yeah, it might actually work. Don't know if they were gay or straight. Then again, I don't really give a shit. I walk away without a second glance. It's what I do. I'm good at it. Still, I hate giving up a good gun but it's unregistered. 

And I've got lots more. 

When I get to the mouth of the alley I'm relived to find that the few folks on the block are either well into it or working on it and missed the action. Two dead thugs in their neighborhood's not going to ruin the mood tonight, although the clubs are gonna take shit when they're found. I make a mental note to stop by a few over the next weeks - to offer my shock and _of course_ , my support. Sometimes one face in a crowd _can_ be remembered. If that's the case, I'm gonna be the face of a regular patron. 

Now...where _was_ I? Oh, yeah...a drunk Mulder. 

By the time I walk the street and find him, he's practically draped over the bar, drink in his hand and looking well on his way. From the anxious glances of the bartender I think he's worrying about whether he'll have to break up a fight or call a cab quick. He needn't worry. Mulder's not like that, he's not a brawler. 

He can fight and has, but most of his battles are hidden. The ones he wages inside his head are far more violent than anything he could do physically. Even the grief he does to me is _nothing_ compared to the shit he gives himself. Still, he won't be driving home tonight, I can tell you that! 

I ease in behind a group of celebrants stripping off my gloves. I'm not worried about the Sig, it's registered ? to one of my many personas. A bounty hunter. ID says the same. If they check me, I'm in for a drink and nothing more. If they push it I can always watch him from the streets. I've already had enough death for one night. Despite what I _am_ , I'm _not_ bloodthirsty. 

Fortunately I enter unscathed and make my way to a darkened table; a waitress right at my back. She leans in to light what looks like a scented candle and I ask her not to; whining something about being allergic to perfume. She makes a sad sound in her throat then I order a Rolling Rock. 

When she leaves to get my drink I focus on my boy just as the bartender tops off his drink. I notice the bottle and blink. He's working on a bourbon?! That alone makes me sit up a bit. When it comes to hard booze, Mulder's a tequila man. I _have_ seen him wash a few of these down before though, and I can tell you the times. One, when Scully was abducted, one when the 'X-Files' were shut down and the last when he learned the smoking bastard's involvement in all this mess. Believe me, _none_ of those times were good. 

Then I notice the guy sitting next to him. Neatly dressed, brownish-black hair, not bald, unremarkable face. Just your average 'Joe'. Who snaps his hand and another finger of booze slips into a glass. Yeah, your average Joe...except the fucker's _buying_ Mulder the drinks! 

I hear a squeak, look down and gape at the table's edge. I've been gripping it so hard the metal's bent some. Panicking slightly, I concentrate and bent it back before resting my arm over the place. It's not too bad but I have _really_ got to pay attention. 

When the waitress brings me my drink I settle up right off knowing the dim lighting will help disguise me and the table. She looks surprised until I murmur something about a long drive home and knowing my limit. That earns me a real pleased smile ? I must be a rarity - and she tucks her tip in her pocket and leaves. After the busy night the place seems to be having, come dawn she won't remember me. I didn't overdue the tip, just dropped a bill or two. Nothing to draw attention as long as I leave before she notices the table. I'm a face in the crowd. I don't have to bother with her. Which gives me the time to focus on Mulder. 

He's leaning in towards 'Drink Dude' now, face bright and head nodding animatedly. Suddenly he tips back and laughs. Really laughs, mouth wide and teeth flashing! That's all I need to see. Mulder _doesn't_ laugh like that. 

I gulp the whole beer down in about two swallows. That's going to get me later but I don't have time to worry. I'm between them in a flash, cool but firm. I look at the man with enough in my eyes to make it clear Mulder's off limits and I can back it up. I'm only six feet, one-eighty-five but it's all muscle - athletic and something he isn't. A trained killer... 

With a body count! 

I'm not proud of it, I'm just _admitting_ it. 

My lips turn up and I manage to keep the growl just slightly under the thump of the music. He still gets the message, drops some bills and makes a hasty departure to the can. I'm tempted to go in and finish my point but Mulder's already swaying some and still giggling. Thank God it's a Saturday with a federal holiday tacked onto Monday. He's really going to need it. 

I tip my head at the bartender, brows lifting to ask 'how much?' He gets the look, points to the shot glass, a bottle of whiskey, then lifts his hand fingers splayed wide. 

Shit! Five shots?! Of whiskey?! 

I have a bad feeling about this and nod 'what else?' He points to a beer, a pint glass and lifts three fingers up. Before I can get over the shock of _that_ , he grabs two 'rocks' glasses and hefts up a bottle of 'Jose Cuervo Tequila', looking at Mulder with a sick expression. Worried sick. Now he's chasing all that down with _bourbon_! Fuck! Was I gone with those two shits in the alley _that_ long or did Mulder suddenly become a sponge? 

Let me inject a little understanding here...Mulder isn't an alcoholic. He doesn't do this all the time, so when he does...well, he does it like he does everything else: full out. Barges in and takes on the whole place. When it's his job you have to admire the conviction but here... 

Swearing softly, I grip his arm, help him stand. He looks up at me with the dreamiest smile I've ever seen and for a moment I'm lit up then he sighs, "Hey...Alex." 

Thank god he doesn't call me by my last name, it's bad enough he _knows_ it's me. I decide to keep _his_ identity secret. Wouldn't do for this to get back to the Bureau. An FBI agent getting drunk in public is bad enough, the _location_ of the drunk would destroy his career. He's still dressed like a government boy and gays in the government aren't what 'Uncle Sam' wants to know about. _Ever_. 

Like I said...we're not exactly _welcome_. 

"Hey, yourself." 

He's still smiling at me and I bask in the glow. He's got a nice smile. It really changes his whole face, makes him look younger. His teeth are pretty even and white. He really needs to do this more often but with his life I know why he doesn't. Suddenly he shifts, leans in and nuzzles my cheek. Fresh stubble scrapes mine - I haven't shaved today - and he sighs in my ear. 

"I...I think I may be a _tad bit_ drunk." 

The man is a master of understatements. "Ummm...quite possibly." So am I. 

"Alex? I...I wanna go home." 

Just call me 'Krycek's Yellow Cab', at your service. 

"Yeah. Sure. I'll get you home." 

As an afterthought, I dare to let my hand brush his hair, tremble at the feel of velvet moving under my fingers. I can't remember if I've ever done this, had the chance to, so I began to pet, card my fingers through it and murmur gently. "I'm... _sorry_. About this morning. Didn't mean it." 

Mulder's babbling slightly. He didn't hear a word. _Thank you_! I need some kind of alibi in case my resolve and determination not to screw this up flags and I drop him to the floor for a wild fuck. I _don't_ want to use him but this is the closest I've ever been to having him the way... 

//Stop it, Alex! Don't daydream!// 

My hand snaps back on its own. 

The bartender's eyes narrow and I offer a weak 'we had a fight' kind of smile back. He nods in sympathy. I add a hundred to the bar murmuring something about not knowing where we went and tip my head at the bathroom door with a disgusted look. The bartender's eyes follow my gaze nodding. Great! He's a 'couple'. He's on my side. I get a feeling 'Drink Dude' is going home empty tonight. He should be grateful he's going home at all. I'm too busy right now to deal with him but I'll be back around this way again. If he's really smart, he _won't_. 

I dig into Mulder's coat - he's still nuzzling me saying stuff I can't hear that well - handoff his keys along with the parking lot name, car's description and tag number, asking to hold it for the tow I'll have come by in a few. I get a quick 'no problem, man', the keys and hundred both vanish and I half carry Mulder out. 

If you're wondering about the ride and the free-flowing cash, the Consortium paid me well. I earned it too. I did their killings for them and some they didn't really need or want but helped them all the same. Most of it was cash, briefcases full in crisp, unmarked bills. You know the story. _Their_ hands stayed clean. Understand now why I wash _mine_ so much? 

I manage to get Mulder onto the street and moving towards the Lexus. He's still smiling at me as he stumbles along, knows who am I, but he's in that happy stage and just wants me to hang. It's a nice moment but superficial. He'll hate me _and_ the hangover come morning. That's if he believes _I_ was even there. 

We reach the Lexus, I pour him into the passenger seat, buckle him up and get us out onto the highway. He starts in as soon as I pull off. 

The whole ride he's on a drunken tirade, whining on about how no one likes him, bitching about how much he wants to get laid. Then he starts dissing the girls: Phoebe Green, she deserves it; Diane Fowley, I won't address. I know all about it; them. They've paid for what they did to Mulder, I don't need to do more. At least not to Diane. She's dead. 

Ah...well...guess I _will_ address it. 

I've always wanted to ask, know what happened. I don't mean her death, that's in the Bureau files. No, what _I_ want to know is why _her_? And Mulder. He loved her, I know that. I don't mean _that_ kind of love, he's gay. I know that too. I do know gays get married, have kids, that whole thing. I guess it's mostly to achieve the legacies they want - kids to carry on but they almost always go back to the _real_ life sooner or later. Pick up any paper and some poor bureaucrat gets his life and career fucked up in a photo, him slipping out the wrong door. Wrong time of night. 

Definitely wrong place. 

As to Mulder, maybe he wanted to do right by her, believed that it was the right thing he needed to do. _I_ think, really think he _did_ care about her but from a standpoint of colleague, fellow X-Filer and little else. I also think he was trying hard to deny something. Something he _didn't_ want to acknowledge - a truth he _wasn't_ ready for. 

For a man that's obsessed with finding out answers, truths, he's good at avoiding them when they're right in _his_ face. Funny, that. I don't have the same hang-ups; know who and _what_ I am. Wonder which of us is more honest after all? 

I heard he married her and just as quick realized it was the wrong thing. Had it annulled quicker. It's not in his Bureau files (show's him as 'single') nor anything in the Consortium's records either. What do you know? They didn't have him completely covered after all. 

Then again, they may have known all along. Both sides. Knew it was little more than an insignificant footnote. Whatever the reasons, it didn't work. They split and later she died. But not before she popped back into Mulder's life and nearly made Scully chew her lips off in jealousy. 

I heard about _that_ too. Diane wasn't the skeptic old Red is. She embraced Mulder's beliefs, feelings as her own. They were, in a way. That must have really pissed his partner off. Poor, _poor_ Scully. 

Pardon me if I snicker. 

As if on cue, Mulder grunts, starts in on the Scully thing and I nearly run off the road. Scully?! Doing the female 'Full Monty' for him?! I'm so shocked I _know_ I'm traumatized for life! I outta sue! This'll have me in therapy for years! 

Look, it's not him talking about a girl that shakes me; hell, I lost my virginity to one - a means to an end. The chick was available, I fucked her then went after what I _really_ wanted; knowledge in hand, so to speak. No, it's that he's describing _her_! _Scully_! Something about creamy white skin, pink nipples and a thatch shaved in a heart doesn't fit the Righteous Bitch. 

Yeah, that's what I call her. _It does_. 

I listen though without comment, shocked, until Mulder turns in the seat and stares at me. 

"I kissed her...Scully. Once." 

I keep my eyes on the road but I can feel his bleary gaze on me. 

"You...you wanna know why I never kissed her again?" 

I'm scared to say anything in case he's starting to come out of it and realizes who's driving him home but I'm freaking curious as all get-out. _Of course_ , I _want_ to know. I'm an inquiring mind. 

"Um...why?" 

He turns back to the windshield and I see a tear slip from his eye. "It was like kissing a sister. Like I used to kiss Samantha, 'cept I kissed Scully on the mouth." He sags a bit with a soft cry. "Just like kissing my sister." He drags his hand under his nose, sniffs and whimpers. "Di-Diane too. Just li-like my sister. Both of them." 

Hummm...no Phoebe... 

"And _her_. Phoebe. _That_ was like kissing a cobra." 

Woooboy! I _don't_ want to get into this. Like I'm driving a shrink sofa here. Besides, _I'm_ not the psychologist, _he is_! Then I feel him staring at me. I know I'm going to regret it but I glance over. 

"What?" 

He's smiling stupid now. "You're...you're kinda _cute_. _Hot_." 

I slowly turn back to watch the road. 

"I'm gay, ya know." 

Yeah... _major_ regret. 

"That's why it didn't work...the girls." 

Make that _monumental_ regret. 

I wonder how bad it would be if I bitch-slapped him out cold. Fortunately for us both, the second wave of booze hits him. He shuts up and slumps in the seat with a grunt. 

We finally arrive at his apartment complex and I kill the engine. For a moment I just sit and look at him. Like this, out cold, he looks younger - the lines of worry and stress gone, a cherubic smile on his face. I reach out, gently brush a long lock of hair from his forehead (I'm glad he finally gave up the shitty buzz-cut thing) and wish he could always look like this. 

Maybe, if I try, I can help that to happen. Maybe one day. If the rebels and I win this maybe he'll forgive me for all the shit I've done. If I win it for the home team it may diminish the stuff I did as a 'free' agent. 

Maybe. 

I hate to wake him but I need to get him inside before he starts to realize what's going on. Climbing out, I walk around to his door, open it and nudge him. He whines at me as I take his arm, pull and he practically falls into mine. Damn! 

I think back to 'Drink Dude' (he didn't look that trashed) and wonder if he shared a few of _his_ drinks behind the bartender's back, hoping to get a little lucky later on. I'm going to find out who he is. Count on it! We have some talking to do. 

Yeah, I fuck with Mulder all the time but that doesn't mean I like _others_ to! 

I tighten up and tug him to stand. We wobble into the building and the elevator (he'll never make the steps now) and punch the button for his floor. As we ascend, I realize he's got his arms around me, nuzzling me harder now and I can hear what he's murmuring. Oh boy, can I! If he remembers this when he wakes up, his 'self-condemnation meter' will go through the roof. 

What's he saying? You take a _guess_. 

Blessedly we reach his floor and I manage to get him next to his door. I lean him up against the wall with a warning to stay and quickly start to pick the lock. Dumb me, never thought to pull the apartment key off the ring at the club. I can't _believe_ this night. Mulder's still smiling at me when he leans in and giggles. 

"We gonna fuck now?" 

Oh shit! 

I nearly break the lock pick off in the door. I look up and he's still smiling but it's changed, gone feral. Those hazel eyes are darker, fierce, a look I know too well fixing on mine. On anyone else's face I'd be scared, on his I'm aroused. Big time. He licks his lips, a flash of pink sliding between them and I swallow hard, my cock going like-wise. I'm some kind of rattled. Really. 

"Um...le-let's get inside first. O-okay?" 

He reaches out, pats my arm nearly falling into me. "Okay, baby." Hazel eyes look up at me sappy. "I bet you fuck soooo haaaaard," he slurs. My cock jumps at the sound bumping my jeans and he's obviously alert enough to see it. He licks his lips again and leans into me cooing. 

"You want me, don't 'cha?" 

Oh yeah, this _isn't_ good! 

"Well, I know I want _you_." 

No... _not_ good! 

Suddenly my mind and my body are locked in the biggest political debate ever! I'm so close to kicking the door down, throwing him over my shoulder and once in his bedroom, fucking him to within an inch of his life, then my brain cells start firing again. I realize no matter how he is right now he'd kill me and perhaps himself the moment he woke the next day. He's like the Hope Diamond - beautiful but completely forbidden; a jewel to be wistfully longed for but realistically unattainable. 

Yeah, I know there's a supposed curse on that stone. I'm Mulder's, I think. Maybe we're each others. Cursed to want something neither of us can give - him, information and me...well, _him_. Guess I'll have to admire him from afar. Like always. 

I _hate it_ when my damn common sense wins. 

I open the door and grabbing him, get him into the living room and miraculously to the couch. He's giggling constantly now, batting at my arms half-heartedly; as if he's trying to keep something from happening yet knowing, _wanting_ it to occur. I don't undress him although I'm very tempted. He needs to think he caught a cab and I don't know any cabbies _that_ customer service-oriented. Besides, he's too shit-faced to mess with tonight and waking up to see me there won't help. 

I manage to get him lying down, tug a faded throw from the back of the sofa and drape it over him, ignoring the tenting in his pants. It'll go away. He's out again. Good. I know despite what he said I'm not on his 'most likely to snuggle up with' list. Not that I wouldn't want to. 

My cock jumps, scrapes against the material of my jeans, I don't wear underwear, and I wish for the umpteenth time I did. At least tonight. The fabric feels sharp against me, painful. Before I realize it I'm rubbing myself, cupping an ache and the relief just within arm's reach. 

He really _is_ beautiful. His eyes go brown when he's hurt or gold-flecked when he's emotionally intense. He has a nice smile, when he bothers to show it, and a deep, caring heart. Look at him closely sometime. Who wouldn't want to wake up next to _this_ every day? I'm not dead, you know, but I'm also smart enough to know it won't ever happen. Not in my wildest dreams. 

I _have_ got an advantage here and I know it but I won't take it. I _do_ want him but not enough to rape him. What I _want_ is to have him come to me willingly; wanting it as much as I do. However, that's never going to happen. _I've_ seen to that. In spades. 

Slowly my hand lowers. I'm going to need lots of cold water tonight. I glance up at the softening of the sky outside and sigh. Okay, lots of water for the morning. 

Fighting my hormones every step of the way, I leave and take up watch at my observation point. I don't want him to be alone just in case he really gets sick. I have no idea when he last ate and bet he doesn't either. He doesn't need to be alone. I know it. So I call _her_. I'm not happy about that either. 

Remembering the joint, I tug it from my pocket, light it and take a long, slow toke. Might as well fuck up my mind since that's all that's going to 'get some' tonight. Damn it all. 

I use a voice scrambler on a secure line and tell her I got her number from her partner in a bar. Tell her he was in a pretty bad way and being taken home by cab. I ask her to give the driver about thirty minutes to get him there, see him upstairs and would she stop by to check in on him? She immediately agreed and hung up. I figured she'd be there in twenty. Crazy woman squealed into a parking space ten minutes later. 

Got to give it to her, she's dedicated. 

Dana Scully. I didn't like her when I met her and I still don't. She's a doctor by degree, a medical examiner by trade; gets a sick thrill outta hacking up people to see what killed 'em. Damn good thing they're all dead first 'cause she's thorough. Really! 

I've seen her handiwork up close. First autopsy I'd ever been to; back when I was the young, raw rookie sent to break her from Mulder. She had this poor guy on the slab, guts opened up like a Thanksgiving turkey after dinner, talking about him like he was that thing in the kids 'Operation' game. All clinical and heartless. I thought I should remove _hers_. Probably would have if I hadn't been in the corner getting sick. For real. 

Yeah, _I've_ killed people. Plenty. A shot here, knife or garrote there but I've never just gutted someone and dropped their innards into Petrie dishes. I mean, I've killed to protect myself or Mulder but what she does is just...sick! 

Okay, so I'm in the corner puking into a trash can not really seeing the gore that's already there and Mulder makes some dick-headed comment about my being 'green'. Scully comes back with a shitty remark on it not being due to my 'fresh from the Academy' status. I think they start laughing then and I put the gal at the top of my 'so dead' list. 

Why's she still around then? I've been _busy_! 

Okay, okay, that's not the truth. Not the real...alright! Not the _whole_ truth. Yeah, she's been a thorn in my side, a pain in the butt of all my plans and I would've killed her myself ages ago...except she saved my life. When _Mulder_ was about to kill me. 

Granted, the boy was doped outta his head and hearing shit in his mind but he was still focused enough to line up his Sig with my gray matter. Then Scully shot him. Right in the shoulder. Knew just where to shoot to keep from killing him but dropped him flat and I was hauling ass outta there like a rocket was lit under me. 

Even _now_ , I don't know why she did it and why she _didn't_ beat Mulder to the shot. She's got a ton of reasons to hate me. I...was involved in the death of her sister. I didn't do it, but I was there and I...shit, I didn't do anything to stop it! Maybe she wants the honor of putting a bullet in my head herself. In her own time. 

Maybe she did it to save _him_. They really don't have anything on me, all their blame is circumstantial - their word to mine. The Consortium's seen to that. Everything I've been involved in with them - even Melissa Scully's death - hasn't a shred of proof placed on me. The big guys tend to clean up after their own. If Mulder had killed me that night they _could_ have charged him with murder. They would have loved to; anything to get him down, out of their way. I'm betting she knew that. So she stopped him form making a worst mistake. 

Still, they blame _me_ for it all; some justified, more wrongly. 

Maybe, and I'm hoping this is the _real_ reason, she's figured it out. That I haven't had much choice or say in what I've done. Believe me, I was owned. Lock, stock and smoking barrel. The Consortium owned me in ways she and Mulder can't imagine and I don't want to talk about. The smoking bastard owned me even more. He thinks he still does. I have to let him believe it, let the whole Consortium believe it. For now. 

True, I'm double-crossing him _and_ them but they don't know it. Least I hope they haven't figured it out yet. If they have...I'm a walking dead man. Yet again. Yeah, they own me and when someone's holding your life in their hands you do what you're told. Especially if you don't want them to drop it. 

So I don't know why she did it. I hope to live long enough to find out and perhaps one day...tell her thanks. We'll have to see. No, I don't _like_ her but I _do_ have to respect her. So...I _owe_ her. Besides, Mulder won't do what he needs to - search for the truth - if anything happens to her. I've already seen that. 

They love each other. Not in the way she may have hoped at some time, but far deeper. Something that transcends a physical attraction and makes in almost kindred. She's seen stuff too, tried to play it off - debunk it - the way she was expected to. Until the shit started to mess with her...and him. 

So they banded together, try to keep each other safe and it hasn't been easy. Mulder's not one to take the safe road. Never has been. In that, he and I are more alike that either of us will admit. Still, Scully's been there for him when I couldn't and wasn't allowed to; patching him up, lending him strength when his started to fail and there to hold him when he needed to cry. 

All the things I've wanted so desperately to do and can't. 

No, I don't like her, I'm _jealous_ of her but she did protect me once and Mulder _does_ need someone to stand with him, so I've been trying to keep her safe too. Lotta good it's done me. She's getting as bad as he is. She's starting to take some risks too. Didn't think she had the balls, you know? 

Man...I've got a _shitload_ of work ahead of me. 

Getting back to him being gay (and sorry for the long digression), but...well, everyone probably thinks old 'Spooky' Mulder's too busy chasing aliens and ghosts to get himself a date. It's true and they should be damn glad he is! They'll need him later but right now _I_ know what he needs. 

I know the last time he had a date, if you can _call_ it that. September. 1992. He was checking the action out at one of the clubs and brought a little fun back home, only Mulder was so hard up for it they never made it to the bedroom. 

I was watching like I was ordered to do, bring back anything they - the Consortium - could use against him; to discredit him even more. He was already in some deep shit with A.D. Skinner by then. I was on my vantage point a, few blocks away, binoculars in hand. I watched him slap on a condom, jerk the guy's pants down and bang him right there against the front door. There wasn't much preliminary and damn little warning for the guy. It was 'wham, bam, thank you, man!' 

When they were done, Mulder must have told him to get dressed, 'cause he shoved some cab fare into his hand then threw him out and spent the rest of the night with a beer, a bag of sunflower seeds in his lap and a really bad run of 'Mystery Science Theatre 3000'. When the marathon was over about five hours later, he pulled a blanket and pillow from the closet, beat the latter into submission and spent the early morning tossing on the sofa. 

Let me tell you now...I _know_ Mulder's a passionate man. I've _seen_ it - in the way he cares for Scully, his job; the dedication he shows to finding the truth, stopping the evil, he's full of it. But when it comes to himself and a tiny bit of joy in his life he closes up. As if he doesn't think he deserves it...some happiness. 

And let me tell you _this_...his family life didn't help reinforce his confidence. Not by a long shot. His dad caused the abduction of his sister and his mother...well, she _still_ blames _him_ for it. He was supposed to be watching over her back then. Hell, he was just a kid! Over thirty years later she still blames him and hasn't said shit to him save to fling _that_ up again, although I'm sure she's figured out what 'hubby dear' did. 

What was that? He took his baby girl and gave her to an alien experiment. It would have been Mulder if not for one small problem. His dad's 'friend' wouldn't let him. So Samantha got taken and Mulder's never stopped looking for her. It's why he's here, why he formed the 'X-Files'...to find answers, find...the truth. 

God help him when he does, 'cause it'll probably get him killed. In fact it almost did. 

His dad called him over one night, prepared to tell him everything; let him in on some of the deepest, worst secrets our dear government's been hiding behind for decades and he could. After all, 'daddy dearest' was dead in the middle of the shit. You see, Mulder's 'dad' was also in the Consortium. 

Yeah, you _could_ say thing's were bad. They got worse. 

I knew if Bill Mulder told him what was up - that aliens _were_ real and in fact planning colonization of our world - it'd put Mulder in a hot seat Satan wouldn't even want. I also knew it'd be signing his 'son's' death warrant in permanent ink. I wasn't going to let that happen. I went to stop him. 

I was there when Mulder arrived, looking for an opening to stop Bill. I got it when he walked into the bathroom. I was already there. I shot him, left him for dead and fled. He died before he could tell Mulder everything. It didn't really matter though, his 'son' found out anyway later. Much later and in some of the worst ways but right then, as Bill died in his 'son's' arms, he knew who did it. He didn't see me but I know he knew. 

I went from 'despised' to 'hated'. 

Why do I keep making out like Bill _wasn't_ Mulder's dad? Well...let's say I have my suspicions. I mean if you had seen them together, they don't look... Oh, never mind. Suffice to say I'm doubtful. It's why I killed _him_...and why I _can't_ kill the one that may be his _real_ dad. Who's that? Let's just say he smokes. A lot. And he owns me. For now. My alien pals plan to change that. Real soon. 

Well, Bill was gone. I was there...at the funeral. Hidden way off but watching. Mulder was there, dressed in a dark suit, solemn, staring down at the oak casket with an expression that made me ache inside - pain, anger and confusion. His mother was by his side but for all of it, miles away. Like she's always been with him. While he stared at the casket, _she_ stared at _him_. The expression was the same as always...blaming. Damning. Like Samantha before, this was Mulder's fault. Again. 

She stared at her only son with pure hate in her eyes. And _I_ hated _her_. 

Teena Mulder. I haven't dealt with her but I know enough that she's in the thick of all this along with the rest. Maybe not a willing party but a party all the same. Bill was a part of the Consortium just like his pal, Cancerman. The smoking bastard's the ringleader but Bill was at the top too. Right behind him. Together they set a series of events in motion that the whole world will pay for in time. All for power. 

I did some snooping a while back, found a file on Mrs. Mulder. Photos - a high school graduation picture. She was a beautiful woman back then, bright hair, clear eyes. They've changed, the hair dulled by weariness, the eyes dimmed by seeing too much but before all that, yes, she was gorgeous. People surely noticed, did in fact. I found another photo, one taken at some pleasant get together. Bill was at her side, smiling carefully. Right on the other, ever-present cig in hand, you know who. And _he_ was looking at _her_. 

Understand _now_? My suspicions? 

She wears this air of superiority whenever she feels threatened. Belittled. Like a cloak around her. I'm betting it waved in the breeze, like a flag, a lot all these years. I know Bill was gone a great deal, always out there doing the Consortium's bidding, leaving the wife to sit and wonder. I'm sure she didn't do that too often. 

I know what this sounds like - I'm looking for an excuse, a reason to lay blame at someone else's feet and I am. I have two photos - one of Cancerman and one of Mulder. I look at them, often and what I see worries me. I envision Mulder older, face wrinkled with time and age, look at that full nose and I'm bothered. Cancerman's got a similar nose. Not exactly but enough to leave me shaky. 

Mulder may know, suspect. By now he should, the man always stays on him yet never, never really pushes to kill him. Close, but the gun always manages to move. For now. 

There's a nasty game being played out here, one that may have terrible repercussions for us all and Mulder's the poor little mouse caught in a continually changing maze. Trying to find the way out. And he calls _me_ a rat. We're more alike that we'll ever know. 

Ummm...getting back to the funeral... 

As they lowered the casket, Mulder turned, walked off; Teena doing the same, in different directions. They never said one word to the other the entire time, arrived in separate vehicles and left the same way. Scully and Skinner followed Mulder. Cancerman followed Teena, casually lighting up another cig before the first shovel of dirt was tossed on his so-called 'friend'. 

Fucking shit! 

I watched the chauffer open the limo door for them, watched her pause to glance back at the gravesite, the diggers already starting their work. Her expression was unreadable, strangely blank. Cancerman put his hand on her shoulder and she didn't flinch, merely turned to look at him. I couldn't see her face. Then she slipped inside the limo, he followed and they were gone. I haven't seen her since. 

She's still alive, living in Mulder's childhood home but they could be on opposite sides of the world for all it matters. They don't speak, haven't well before the funeral. No Mother's Day cards are sent, no calls made to wish a child a happy birthday, nothing. I know, I was around enough to see that; checked his mail slot, bugged the phone. 

They don't relate, deal with each other, so she's no problem. I don't have to bother. I'm glad. 

I've been back to the cemetery since then, always distant, always watching. Mulder's showed up a few times, lays a flower on the stone, stands for a while before leaving. Teena's _never_ been back, not that I've seen. She doesn't have to. Bill's dead. Cancerman's still around. 

I've never tracked her, followed her. Won't. I'm afraid I might find something I truly don't want to; something that will _make_ me want to kill her. Mulder's had enough funerals to attend. I won't add to his personal list any more. 

Complex? You don't know the _half_ of it! It'd sure as hell give a soap writer nightmares. 

Anyway, let's get back to my boy and that night. 

Yeah, he's passionate. I know he wants to snuggle with someone after sex but not _that_ one. Since the guy didn't try to lay him or anything and seemed just as anxious to bail after the door fuck, I let him live. I reported back to my 'owners' Mulder did _nothing_ of interest that night. 

Hey! It was true! 

He's a loner that doesn't _want_ to be alone. It seems he's finally figuring out he doesn't have to be. Not always at least. He coughs and I _finally_ return to the present. Oh, yeah...thanks for sticking with me through all that. 

The drunk binge? Oh...no. No...I never _did_ find out what was bothering him that night. 

He's still standing by the closet door looking shy and lost; fingers still raking through that thick mass of hair. Damn! Wish I was just his pinky in that mess. Be like swimming in gold. He's so _beautiful_. Yes, beautiful. Handsome's not the right word, not for him. _That_ fits Denzel, Gibson, Mortensen, Pitt, a host of others. There's handsome, then there's beautiful. Mulder's cornered the market on the latter. 

Am I biased? Yes. Do I want him? Oh, yeah...I _want_ him. Bad. Didn't I _mention_ that before? Did I also mention how much wishes are horses? I lift up my arm, the new one, and hold out the remote. 

"I...I didn't see much worth watching." 

He settles down next to me, not close to touch, but not so far he doesn't look casual and takes the remote. He pokes at the button a few times then sits up. "You, ah...you want another beer?" 

I open my mouth to make a smart ass comment about him getting me drunk to have his wicked way with me but I reconsider and close it. Any other time it would have been fitting but right now...no. I've been trying. I think he's trying too. I manage a small smile instead and notice he glows under it. Maybe he expected smart ass too? 

"Yeah. Yeah, I would. Thanks, Mulder." 

He bounces up and rushes to the kitchen. A few moments later I hear the rattle of bottles followed by the microwave and panic. Mulder doesn't cook. Believe me... Mulder. Doesn't. Cook! Just as I start to rise ready to run he's back; two beers tucked under his arm and a plate with two rolls on it clasp in his hand. He even found paper towels holding the plastic wrap of the roll in his teeth. He lowers everything onto the coffee table and meets my eyes. His twinkle slightly and I hear a soft, shamed whisper. 

"I...I forgot the egg rolls." 

//Awwww... Mulder, you shouldn't have.// I smile back "That's okay," reaching for one. "It's a great snack." I'm full but I nibble carefully, it's still hot, reaching for my beer. He walks around the table, settles back on the other side of the sofa, takes up his beer, the remote and starts surfing again. 

I eat slowly, sipping my beer and watch him. Carefully. Twice I've held that arm, my restored one, out to him and twice he's not asked. That's just _so_ not... 

"Tell me about the arm, Krycek." 

Bingo. I ought to take the boy with me to Atlantic City. You can bank on him. Play your cards slow and steady and he'll take you home. I stuff the last of the roll in my mouth, take a good swig of my beer, ignore the wave of heat that tells me I'm getting a bit too comfy and lean back. 

"The rebels, Mulder. The ones you've met before found me. Gave me my arm back. I'm working fo... _with them_ now." 

He's not looking at me, still punching the remote but I know he heard every word. He keeps staring at the TV. "Doing what?" 

Yeah, I've got his attention. "Trying to stop the Consortium and the rest, what do you think?!" I try to keep it cool, not let my frustration slip out but I guess I'm not as good as I think. Maybe it's a given when I deal with him. 

He's still watching the TV but the voice takes a tight tone. "Working both sides again, huh?" 

Fuck! Talk about a kick in the balls! I know in his mind I deserve it but I don't have to like it. I wash down the rest of the beer and slam the bottle on the table in disgust. "Yeah, Mulder, _that's right_! And the last time I did _both_ fucking sides tried to _kill_ me! So...which of you is _better_?!" 

That stings as his face warps into something I can't read but I know it hurts him. He lowers the remote and turns to look at me. His eyes have gone that brown I talked about. The color of hurt. 

"I...I'm sorry about that. About wanting to shoot you. I...I know what you've been through, what you've been forced to do and I...I think I understand now. I'm sorry." 

Oh, no...no way! This... _isn't_...happening! Oh, but it is! He rests the remote on the sofa's arm. 

"Can I...can I _look_ at it? Your arm?" 

I lift it and watch as he reaches out tentatively, lets his fingers brush over mine and the connection makes me gasp. His eyes find mine and they're filled with apology. He thinks he hurt me. I manage to shake my head. "M'okay. Uh...my-my fingers feel stuff. More than before. Sorry." 

//Wait...did I just _apologize_? To _him_?// 

He inspects my hand a bit more then looks over my whole arm. There's no scar, nothing to indicate it was even cut off. It's still paler than my right but it's catching up. A few hours here and there stuck in a tanning bed and it's not far behind. He seems shocked, surprised. 

"It's _real_! I mean it's not mechanical." 

"No, Mulder, it's real. They re-grew it. They've got healers with them. I...I guess I'm altered. It...it grew back." 

I shiver without trying, memories of pain, agony make me whimper. He feels it, hears it, nods then looks up questioningly. "Does...will it be permanent? The sensitivity?" 

I shiver again. The way he said that one word makes me want something. I think _he_ may even know what it is. "I...I don't know. They said it would take some time to...to a-adjust. I'm...it's stronger too." 

"Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound with it?" 

He actually laughs at that and I chuckle with him. "No, but I've broken a few arms though...I..." 

// _Oh, no_.// 

Our mutual laughter dies off as he glances down to his wrist. It's still red but not swollen. I'm looking at it too when his eyes pull mine in and I swallow trying to show him I'm really sorry. "Mulder? I...I didn't mean to..." I can't go any further. Yes, I _did_. He knows it. I've gotten in the habit of expecting attack here. He knows _that_ too. 

He says nothing though; instead turns my hand over gently so the palm faces him, glides a finger over my lifeline - it's pretty long regardless of what I think - and smiles when it twitches. I can't help it, feels like ants crawling over it. Nice ones, though. "It's good, Krycek. I..." He lowers it to his lap and looks right at me. "I'm glad they could help you." 

My hand's still in his lap. It's getting a bit hot in here, isn't it? 

My face feels sweaty. Forgetting I even have another hand I start to lift my left. Before I can move it away, he grabs it again, ignores my gasp and turning it down presses in right into his crotch. Something hard presses back. My fingertips pick up the heat, the slight ripple of flesh under his sweats and it's like a jolt of electricity through me. I let out a strangled gasp too shocked to scream. His choked cry does fine for both of us. 

I need to kiss him. I _really_ need to kiss him! 

I lean in eyes closing, he must too 'cause suddenly I hit something firm and grunting, jerk back rubbing my nose. Opening my eyes, he's doing the same. Mulder's got one hell of a beak on him, but it works on his face. Like I said... _beautiful_. 

I chuckle, feel heat rise on my cheeks. I'm acting like a hormone enraged teenager in the back seat. Mumbling, I lower my hand and try to look coy. "Um, sorry Mulder." My other hand's still in his lap and I make no attempt to move it. Neither does he. Instead he looks at me. The hazel darkens, goes brown-gold and I can't breathe. 

"Alex? My _name_ is Fox. You can call me that. At least tonight. If you... _want_." 

//Oh. My. God.// 

We sit like that; him looking at me with an open expression, me sitting there staring at him like he's the Second Coming and neither noticing my hand is still shoved down between his legs; and his holding it there. I realize it then. _This_ is the moment I want to remember when I die. Nothing else will be as sweet. 

_If_ this is real. 

_Is_ this real? Can someone like me truly have something _this_ good? I shut my eyes shivering. 

If this is it - the final breaking point where my mind, tormented beyond repair, has finally snapped, then be merciful. _Leave me here_! Let me have this _one_ moment! Forever! Give me this - in a 'Groundhog Day' - to live in and I won't fight. I'll go willingly, drooling all the way. Just let me _have this_! 

Please. 

_Please_! 

Slowly, my eyes open. He's still here. Holding my hand. Slowly he offers me a tentative smile - filled with need and something else. Hope. 

//Oh... _thank you_!// 

After a moment he lets go; looks at me, gives me silent permission to do whatever. My hand has its own idea. We both watch as it glides up to the waistband of his sweats then vanish underneath. 

His body jerks, mouth opening on a soundless cry as my hand pushes the material downward (he's naked underneath...oh shit!), away from him and his cock pops up like a gopher from his hole. He's semi-hard and warm; the skin flushed. I reach out, wipe the trace of precum off it and slowly lift my fingers, eyes locked on his, and making sure he sees it, slip them into my mouth. 

His eyes go plate wide. 

Nice to know I can still shake him. Considering _I'm_ the one actually vibrating now, I'm glad I can. 

My fingers don't notice anything since it's my own body they're touching. It shuts down to extra stimulus when it's mine. Like scratching your own itch. That's good because it's _him_ I want to know now. 

The taste of him - tart and live - hits the back of my throat and I moan before I can help myself. It's like a drug and I'm instantly addicted. I need more. I grab him, pull him to my chest and bury my mouth against his. My hand dips down again, strokes him and he's hard as a brick against me. _My_ cock starts to realize maybe this visit _wasn't_ a waste and pushes against my jeans painfully. I relish the hurt. 

God! 

I jerk back to say something, make some kind of explanation but he's not into words right now. He leaps up, grabbing me into his arms and practically starts to half drag, half carry me towards his bedroom; one arm crushing me, the other tugging his sweats up. Or is that down? Either way, I get the idea halfway there and start to move _him_. 

One of us, perhaps both, manage to get the door open without breaking it down, stagger in and fall over into the bed. Covers fly up and I'm surprised I'm not sneezing then my hand hits the crisp, clean sheets and the sensation drives a wail of shock from me. 

Remember when I said I felt the tables were turned? I think I'm in serious trouble here. The kind I'm gonna enjoy getting out of. 

It's all the warning I get then Mulder's on top of me (Shit! When did he get undressed?!), one hand tangling in my hair to hold me as his lips try to chew my mouth off; the other moves down the bed. Fingers slide over mine, grip boldly ? I could crush his right now ? trace up and down the tips. It's like vodka ? nice and easy going down but kicks the shit outta you when it hits bottom. 

I'm shitted...just so you know. 

My scream of pure need tells _him_. 

He goes at me like a demon, mouth deep-throating mine, fingers running a symphony over my hand and it's like my cock's in the palm. If he keeps this up... I shudder, feel a hazy warmth rising and it pierces through enough to make me tear my mouth from his. Cry out. 

"Mullll, Fox! Nnnnno! St-st-stop! Stop! Please!" 

The sensations vanish as one. 

I lay there drawing in hard breaths, body shaking so bad the bed seems to move and stare up at him, pray my eyes tell him everything, and manage to gasp. "Mulder? Fox? I need..." I can't say another word so I just stare at him. Desperate. 

Lucky me. 

His eyes speak for both of us when he nods. "Me too." Then he's reaching for my shirt. I don't recall moving but somehow it's suddenly there in his hands, my jeans in the other. I feel cool air on my feet and wiggle them. No boots, no... _socks_?! I blink stunned. 

Did I...have I _missed_ something? Again? 

I don't wear any underwear, never have. I'm already bare. I lie there gazing up at him and realize he's staring at my crotch. Hard. _I'm_ getting harder just being stared at. I'm not that long but I make up for it in width. I hope that doesn't bother him. I've seen his flings but not _that_ detailed. I don't know if any others were. Still, I _never_ had any complaints the times I filled my dance card. 

I glance down. Mul... _Fox_ , is long and full; the head plump, flushed. Fucking beautiful! Like him. Look in the encyclopedia for the word 'piston' and it'll say 'see Fox Mulder - naked and hard'! 

I look back, he's still looking at me, expression thoughtful now and I feel self-conscious suddenly; feel a need to say something. Then it changes. 

Now he's smiling at me, dark and devious. Guess he likes what he sees. I think I actually blush back. All over. Slowly he looks at his hands and my clothes. He stares at them for a moment before tossing them to the floor with a growl then he's on me like an animal and I'm snarling with him. 

We're a tangle of arms and legs, teeth and tongues. He bites me on the neck (it hurts!), starts to suck violently and I remember something about him chasing a vampire. I shake under him, try to push him up and he pulls away, jaw closing with a snap. He didn't draw blood (he's no vamp) still I can feel his mouth there. I don't want to know how that mark's going to look in the morning, I'm just going to be happy it's there. 

I look at him and see eyes dark, filled with desire and it checks anything I'd planned to say. This is _his_ call and he knows it. He looks at me tightly. 

"Do you want me?" 

His fingers graze over my palm and I jerk under him. //Jesus, Mulder, do you really have to ask?! I'm naked, on _your_ bed, _under_ you. Take a _look_!// 

"Do...you... _want_ me?" His fingers slide up, dance along the bicep and my whole body jumps this time. " _Do you_?!" 

I get it. He needs this, this bit of control in his life. God knows he can't control anything else right now. Not that he hasn't tried to. _They_ won't let him, however _I_ can give him this. I settle into the covers and nod. 

"Yes." 

"Do you...love me?" 

I could answer simply and be truthful. Nails dig into my arm. The sensation - like dynamite and a lit fuse - rips up it, slams over my body and explodes in my head. I couldn't fake this if you _paid_ me! My body snaps off the bed and the wail that splits my lips scares us both. 

"Yes! Jesus, Fox, yes! I love you! Oh, god, I _love_ you!" 

Well, I said it! I'm glad because if he'd kept that up I'd have come all over us both. I lie there sobbing, not in pain, but from the most desperate, needy ache I've ever felt. Every part of me burns and my cock feels like it's going to blow off my body. Panting, I find him staring at me differently now. He's convinced. I _do_ want him. He doesn't doubt it. 

Alex Krycek isn't playing any games. Not anymore. That's good because he's on me again with a snarl and I flat give up. 

Before I can even prepare, he scoots down the bed and deep throats me like he studied under Linda Lovelace herself. I have a moment to feel skin slick on skin the next I'm balls-deep in his mouth and he's trying to suck those too! If _that_ wasn't frying my brain enough, he somehow manages to get a finger slicked up and the next thing I feel is a long, narrow probing up my ass, curling and... 

**//OH GOD!//**

I know the walls in this place are thin but I can't hold back the raw screech that bursts from me when he finds my prostate. I can only hope that the folks next door, if they hear this, are...happy for him. Maybe happy for me too. 

He's finger-fucking my ass and sucking me off like a vacuum hose, and he's good... _really_ good! Keeping me on the edge, just shy of release, and driving me wild. I don't know whether to curse those videos or give 'em a medal. I can tell you this... I've _never_ been fucked like this! _Ever_! 

I'm mashed into the covers by the force of my need alone, my right hand buried in his hair, my left tangled in the sheets. In all my hazy lust something's still working enough to know not to touch him with it. In my passion I could crush his head. I'd rather punch a hole through his mattress first. I can always buy him another of _those_! 

I manage to find focus enough to lift my head and what I see nearly stops my heart... Fox William Mulder's head bobbing between my legs! Oh, if this kills me I'll still exist - an emotional presence soaring in space. 

Give me a break! _Everybody_ thinks mushy shit when they're getting laid! 

He keeps it up, head working slower now, the heat no longer sizzling but so good I start shaking. Not from pending release, no, he's not letting me get _that_ far - but something else. Just enough to make me forget. Make me...need. Need _him_. 

God, I do...I _need_ him. I need... 

I don't know when I start sobbing but the next thing I know I'm writhing on the sheets crying out his name in at least six languages and everyone filled with so much feeling. I hope he can hear it, hear the love. I'm not too sure I can say it. Not yet. I'm scared if I do, he'll just laugh. Reject me. Give me the ultimate mind game, the ultimate loss. The lost of him. Even now I...I can't trust him. And I want to. I... _want_ to. 

//Oh...Fox...please...// 

His finger curls in on me again and I let loose a shout. It's getting too good, too close to fight it. I feel that warm haziness start up in my gut and grip his head whining for more. Mulder shifts, mouth working me carefully now and I shudder under him, wail as I feel the heat fading, cooling...damn him! The finger slides away too and I can't help it; I sob, beg him to finish me. Stupid! _Never_ give your opponent an advantage. I just did. 

He knows it. 

He stops, pulls off me with a slurp and dodges me as I try to grab him back. Somehow in the madness, he manages to get away long enough to pull a tube of lube from the nightstand. Tossing it onto the bed he jerks me up to sit then he's on _his_ back reaching up for me. 

"Now! Want you now!" 

//But...I thought he wanted _me_ to...// 

"Now!" 

// _Yes, sir_!// 

I grab his legs, lift them up over my forearms and position myself. I'm sane enough now a final thought makes me look up. Dark eyes glow back at me and I _have_ to ask. I _need_ to. 

"Mul...Fox? You have condoms?" 

He looks at me then, eyes softening as they fill with understanding and gratitude. "Do we _need_ them?" 

Oh. Yeah. He's been in the hospital enough we _both_ know his record. Those were from the public events. As to the private ones, I've watched them all. He's never been with someone bareback. _Never_. _I'm_ the one that's unknown. 

I give him a deep, serious look. _This_ isn't something I'd joke about _or_ lie on. No one _ever_ should and he knows me on this. "No...Fox, not really. I'm safe. I've been checked and I've _never_ been with anyone without one. I've got some in my jacket. We'll do whatever you feel comfortable with." 

He doesn't say anything about the jacket thing. After all, we're guys. Gay or not, we know the game. That earns me a grateful smile then a smirk. "S'kay. So...I'm your _first_?" 

//What? Oh. _Oh_!// I have to grin, can't help it. It's kinda cute, innocent and the sweetest thing we may ever share beyond this. Before I know it, I lean in and rub noses with him. "Like this... _yes_." 

He nods and I'm confirmed. Makes two of us. I told you I wouldn't lie about _this_. I'm about to receive something _very special_ so I sober some and look him in the eye. 

"Are you _sure_?" 

He reaches up, runs his finger along my cheek to trace across my lips and nods. "Yeah, I'm sure. Please, Alex. It's been _so_ long." 

//Yeah, baby. For _me_ too.// 

We both know I could use this against him and he wouldn't be able to stop me. The place is wired, I had to leave one and there's still that blasted camera in the hallway he's yet to find, but this time I'm not going to do their dirty work. That's why I'm glad we're in his bedroom. Never thought to plant a mike. After all, when's he ever _in_ here? 

Yeah, I could destroy him with this - the ones in the Bureau would love the excuse - but I won't. I won't use _this_. Let someone _else_ try, they're already dead. I make a mental note to give Fox the extra jamming device I brought and show him how it all works. I can't destroy the mike and camera, that would invite trouble, but I _can_ help him to be invisible when he needs to. 

Okay, I'm on his side again. Like I wanted to be from jump. I won't let them hurt him. Or...or Scully. Hell, even Skinner's got my protection now. They're the only family he has. That makes them important to him. 

Makes them essential to _me_. 

Yeah, I'll protect them all, whether they want it on not. Kill anyone that tries to hurt them. Scully may despise it - Skinner would reject it - but I _will_ protect them. 

Fox's brows knit and I pause, sensing I need to as if we've been lovers (oh god!) all our lives. I gaze down and his eyes are worried. Frightened. 

"Don't leave me. Not again. Please Alex, don't leave me." 

I swallow feeling the weight of this request heavy on my heart and soul. "I can't promise that, Fox. I may have to leave you. To protect you, to meet my sources or track trouble but I promise I'll come back to you. Back here. This is where I belong. _I promise you_." 

It's enough for now and he nods, pulls me back in to nuzzle my face. "That's all I'm asking, baby." 

_Baby_. I don't deserve him but I plan to earn my keep. I feel a hand nudge my ass. 

"Make love to me, Alex. Now." 

I gaze down at him, lean in and kiss him slowly, tongues twining together then lean back and sigh at him. "I swear I'll make it good, Fox. I _swear_." 

His lips turn up again and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Makes me determined and I smile back. I gather up the tube of lube, open it and slick up my fingers. Dropping it on the floor, I gently ease one into his opening trying not to gasp as he does, the heat of him searing a path of want up to my brain. I take time to get him ready, adding kisses, nips and licks along his face; his chest. Feel him relax totally and return the passion. 

My fingers slip a bit, grazing over the nerves inside him and he jerks up with a sobbing cry that makes my heart weep. He gasps out my name - my _first_ name - and whines for me to make him come. I plan to but not like this. I'm not going to make this some quickie and leave him needing. I'm going to make him scream my name and come hard enough to knock him out. He needs it. I _know_ he needs it. I merely need to let _his_ body do it for him. I don't care how it looks, I'm the _device_. _He's_ in control. 

When his sighs and moans grow restless I know he's ready. I guide myself, push in and thrust quick. His body opens to me like the petals of an award-winning rose. 

I'm so glad my hand isn't where my cock is right now or my head would have blown off from the shock. He's tight and so _hot_! I balance on my hands, breathing in deeply trying to get over the sensations I _can_ feel then he shifts against me. The slick, tight muscles rippling over me ruins any hope of enjoying this moment for itself. I start out rocking back to glide in gently but deep. It's been a few months for me, years for him. I need to give us both time to adjust. I don't want to hurt him. Not now. 

Not anymore. 

I've gotten into a good pace when he reaches out, grips my arms pulling me down and I cry out. I forgot...it's not just my _hand_ that's sensitive. My whole arm feels his touch like fire along my nerves and I collapse against him like he wants. 

We lay there for a moment, neither moving, heartbeats thumping in near tandem. He gasps something, I think he says 'close' and I swear up a blue streak in my head. I was pushing it too far, too fast. I lay there, let myself settle some and wait. I _said_ he was in control. Finally his lips, so warm and soft, find my neck; kiss gently, tracking a path to my ear as a pair of lean, muscular legs wrap around my waist. 

"Thank you...Alex." 

Three simple words yet they cut through my heart better than one of Scully's scalpels and sever the tumor of hate growing there. Gives me back my life. Gives me back...my love. I feel his hand ease down my left arm, fingers sliding under mine, lace through and squeeze. Asking me to hold back. The shock of the gesture, not the sensation, hits me cold in the face. He trusts me not to hurt him. 

He... _trusts_ me. 

I burrow my head against his cheek, feel wetness there. His tears? Mine? Doesn't matter. It's a shower of blessing I take. I can't speak, can't answer him. I don't have the words to repay so tender a gift. Instead, I return the favor the only way I know and move again; my fingers curl against his gently, adding my thanks physically. 

The sensations that sing along my nerves are the sweetest thus far. Suddenly I hope my senses don't adjust _too_ soon. I want to enjoy this for a while. I rock inside him slowly now, gently, that phenomenal patience I've kept through all this shit with him keeping me cool, calm, even though my body's screaming for me to fuck this man's mind out. I can't. I won't! I want this to be good for him. For me. I can wait to drive him mad later. 

Believe me...there _will_ be a later. There has to be! I'm not letting this get away. Never! A ragged gasp pulls me back to the moment and I pull him closer. 

He's so delicate in my arms. I never realized how soft his skin is, even the slight curls of hair on his chest are like the down of a chick. These strong muscles and bones seem so fragile in my embrace and I realize he _is_ fragile. He's tried to carry _so much_ on those broad shoulders - a weight even Atlas would tremble under - yet he's held it up. I marvel at his tenacity. 

Any wonder the rebels want him safe? Any wonder _I_ do? I've been in awe of him since forever. 

He's fragile right now, maybe he's always been, in my arms. I slide my hands down, under, to cradle his back. He has scars, here and there, but the physical ones are _nothing_ compared to the ones he carries inside. The mental ones; the spiritual ones. He's been hurt, more than anyone will ever see or truly know...and I helped to put much of it there. 

I don't know how he can let me do this now but I take this one shred of trust and cling to it like a lifeline. This isn't about lust. No. He could have taken this - raped me - anytime he wanted and I would have submitted without a fight. I would have deserved his contempt. No, this is about something else. Something I may _never_ understand but for now I'm going to try my damndest to get it right. 

Maybe this is it, that one last chance they talk about to make amends. Maybe not just to him but Scully, Skinner, everyone that ever trusted and believed in me to only find their faith denied. I think I have a chance here - through this man - to wash away some of the stains of my life. 

Mulder's given me something very special in this moment, a trust that goes deeper than just a physical sharing. He's given me a chance to really see into him; strip away every pretense, every layer of hardness he's encased himself in and know the real man. He's seen things no one else can ever truly understand, except maybe me. We've shared something far deeper than our bodies already. 

I lost an arm because of him but in truth I'd have given my life to keep him safe. I tried but he couldn't...wasn't able to trust me. Now...he does. I owe him not to fail. Not this time. 

He whimpers under me and I realize I've slowed down again. Already I'm failing him. I frown at myself and pick up the pace. I made a promise. One of many I now commit my life to holding up. Devil take me, if I break them! Maybe it's _these_ that will keep me from living a life of nothing but lies. 

I know if he could go back; even knowing what he knows now, he wouldn't change a thing. Except maybe he'd have shot me the day we met. That would be the only thing he'd change I'm sure. Wouldn't blame him either considering so much of his later sorrows were because of me. Hell, I'd probably hand him the gun. I deserve _that_. 

_This_ is the biggest redemption I may ever receive. 

I slow down again, stop and his eyes flutter open. They're nearly black, pupils dilated in pleasure. I don't know if he can even hear me through the fogginess I see but I have to say it _now_. I may never get another chance or have the courage. I know I said there'd be time later but that's only _my_ opinion. 

His eyes go worried, anxious, so I lean closer; settle firm against him and let my lips brush his. Give him the only truth that means anything right now and hope with all my heart he can believe it. 

"I love you, Fox. I...I _always_ have and I'm sorry. For... _everything_." 

His eyes soften and _that_ smile rises up again. This time I _finally_ get it and draw in a quick breath. This isn't what I expected. His next words knock the little bit of air I got out of me. 

" _Wondered_ when you'd get around to saying it. I'm sorry too and...I love _you_." 

// _What_?!// 

His expression goes enigmatic and I realize I'm not going to get more right now. I feel a hand slide down my back, firmly squeeze my ass and I get a reminder of what's going on at the present. Looks like I'm going to get that 'later' after all. I can work with that. 

I gaze down at him and know my face tells him everything I need to wait to say. When he smiles back I realize I _do_ love him. _I love him_! I love him enough I'd have his babies if I could. Yep, go through labor for him. What? Only _two_ days of pain? _Bring it on_! Just to have the privilege of bearing another beautiful creature like him into the world, I'd gladly do it and _damn_ the epidural. Give me the pain! I'd take it with honor! 

Yeah, I've got it bad and... Oh man! I can't ever tell him that! I'm in deep and let me tell you...I don't mind drowning in _this_! 

He wiggles under me, offers a half whimper, half growl and I wake up. I get back to what I was doing. I start fucking him without any further preamble, hand wrapping him gently, helping the moment go. I've got a promise to keep. 

Mulder arches hard, body lifting us both up and his eyes go wide, throat opening on the scream that starts to build in it. He's _more_ than ready! His cries get louder and I hope it's not just the Consortium that's missing this. I swear, the first knock on the door and I'll shoot someone. Right _after_ I get him off! 

He screams when my cock hits his prostate and I smile at the sound; start to move harder inside him. He's crying out now with every thrust I make; softer cries, but no less filled with need, hope and desire. 

I listen to every sound he makes; sense every shift of his body and respond to it. Slow here, a little extra thrust there. It's like a dance - someone's got to lead and I let him. After all, this is _his_ song. I'm just grateful I get to be his partner for it. Maybe for the next ones after. 

I hit his prostate again and he sobs, rocks under me. I'm just as bad, sobbing in Russian, grateful he can't figure it out and too far gone to care. What am I saying? Oh...just the kind of wild, bedroom babble one makes when they're desperate, horny and in need of a _good_ shagging. 

Yeah... _you_ behave. I'm getting laid! 

No...strike that, I'm...I'm making _love_. With the man I've wanted since maybe all my life? Nothing I ever do with anyone else will satisfy me now and I know it. No matter what happens after this I'm off the radar, retiring on the roster. No other body will feed the need I have for... for Fox. Fox...god, I love it. It sounds so right in my voice. In my mind. My...heart. 

Oh, shit! What a time to give up smoking! I have a feeling when this night's over I'm going to want one bad. Hell, Fox may too. The thought makes me laugh joyously, a wild howl of happiness I know he hears and feels. I need _him_ and nothing else is going to do. 

Yeah, I'm taking an oath of celibacy if he turns me away after this. I'll accept it from him as penance for my past and this moment as a reminder of what my future could have been. I said I was addicted to him. Withdrawal's gonna be a bitch if this doesn't work out. 

So I try to imprint myself on every cell in his body with my love-making praying he'll never let anyone else touch him again; pray that he'll say he's _mine_! If he'll have me. Me? Well...I've been his _all along_. I didn't lie on that. 

He must know my thoughts 'cause he starts to cry my name and it's the sound of a heavenly choir to my ears. //Yes, Fox! Please! Let me know you like it! _Please_!// 

"Yes! Oh god, Alex! Yes!" 

I can feel it starting, the slick muscles against my cock tighten in waves. He's so close. I need to give him something for this - something more than a declaration of love for him. I know what to do. 

When we're done, I'm going to tell him the truth. _All of it_. They can't hear us that well in here and whatever they do, they'll think it's me torturing him. He needs to know what's coming. Maybe he can help stop it. We'll need all the help we can get. Yeah...I'll tell him but for now... 

I shift a bit higher and start slamming into his prostate with every move, my hand working his cock in matching rhythm. Listen as the cries build to an ear-shattering scream. 

"Aaaaaallllleeeeexxxx!" 

* * *

**WHAM!**

"Shit!" 

Mulder sat up on the floor, eyes rolling around taking in the room in the darkness. Alone. No one here. 

Damn! He'd fallen out of the bed again. 

Rolling over on the floor he slowly lifts up onto his hands and knees, head hanging down for a moment as he draws in hard breaths. His cock aches, deprived of the release he'd come so close to but the pain and the erection begin to fade in the reality of wakefulness replaced by something more direct. 

"Oh, god...five nights in a _row_! I don't _believe_ this!" 

Five nights in a row - too many weeks attached - dreaming about _him_. Krycek. Dreaming _he_ was Krycek. Breaking into his own apartment; seducing his _own_ body. Dreaming of his lips, his tongue; the sweet feel of his lean body moving against him. The deep undulating cries of pleasure parting from lips made to be kissed swollen. The tight heat that rippled against him. The howls of raw desire bouncing off the walls. 

_His_. All _his_. Howls all due to his body writhing wildly under Krycek's. No...under _his_. Or? 

// _Shit_!// 

He pushed up from the floor and sat on the bed's edge. He'd started sleeping in it again - after buying new linen, silk linen - tossing the old dust covered sheets into the trash. They were nearly crumbling apart with disuse but these...they added to the overall reality of the dream. He wondered why he'd bought them. Worse...if he really had. 

//Okay, I'm really fucked now. I'm loosing it completely.// 

His fingers slide over the material. Of course he was loosing it. Why not? He'd done nothing to stop the dreams. One call to Scully, a quick explanation of bad dreams - she'd understand that all too well - a prescription to relax and no problems. So why _hadn't_ he called her yet? 

A sudden image of him screaming, body arched violently, cock pumping cum all over a hand flashed through his mind. 

//Oh, yeah... _That's_ why.// 

It was strange, the dreams, they seemed to be a factor of both real events as well as...hopes? He and Krycek had never had sex, much less kissed (well that one...no, 'they' hadn't kissed), but the dreams indicated Krycek felt the same or rather 'he' felt Krycek felt the same. At least he believed he knew the man was also gay and heavily attracted to him. That was something. 

He sat there and finally gave himself the freedom to admit it. He wanted this man. Knew it and accepted it. Maybe Krycek felt the same. He could only hope. 

He remembered the bar, Krycek helping him out, taking him...home? Well yes, he woke on the sofa so _someone_ got him there. He remembered the hangover more, Scully's concerned face the first thing he saw behind the thundering pain. The memory of crude comments and lots of nuzzling came next. Mulder blushed and focused on a different memory. 

While Scully stuffed him full of coffee and two aspirins he recalled a knock at the door, a man holding out a set of keys and a receipt. Staggering to the window he noticed his car was there, parked in its usual space and seemingly no less damaged for his wild foray. _Someone_ had seen to its return and paid for it. There was no name on the receipt, only his address, the car's description and the tow paid for in cash. He knew enough that he'd been in no shape to drive. 

Krycek? 

Who else would know how to get inside his apartment? Scully admitted that night she'd been called to check in on him, assumed it was the bartender that called and drove straight to his apartment. Not to the bar. Told him he was already there curled up on the sofa. Okay, not her. Then who? 

//Like I have to _ask_ that.// 

This dream _had_ seemed more vivid, more deeply detailed than the others. Had he somehow tapped back into the man's mind that night? It hadn't been too long after the stairwell and the wild thoughts the drugs he'd received brought up. He recalled the murders and shivered. Had it really happened? It'd been some time since that night and hard to remember a murder report. Sadly they happened often in DC. He could always check. Most murders weren't usually the jurisdiction of the FBI but the local police database would have the investigation. If it had occurred. 

It was something the man was fully capable of doing but what if this time it was his own fevered imagination concocting one more thing to blame the triple agent for? Did he really want to know? Not really. Dreaming it was disturbing enough. No... For once he decided he didn't want the truth. Not this time. What he _wanted_ was... 

//Ummm... _yes_.// 

Memories of the dreams, he and Krycek wrapped in each others arms, making love slowly, gently, moans and sobs of passion filling the air make him shake. He trembled with the intensity of the images, groaned as his body reacted, cock filling, pulsing against him. Oh, man. He forced his attention elsewhere. What if the dream was also a message. What if... 

He rose, ignored the ache and walked into the living room pausing at the fish tank and smiled as the fish moved towards him anxiously. "Oh, hey guys." He lifted the food then paused, lips turning up with a slyness as he lowered the package. "Sorry guys, _I'm_ not going to break up a routine. You'll just have to wait." Remembering, he reached under the tank, eyes blinking in surprise as he pulled out the bug. 

//Well, I'll be damned.// 

Inspecting it carefully he's amazed it's quite sophisticated from the past ones. There's no jamming device on or near it though. Perhaps Krycek... _Alex_ , has to remove it so it's not discovered. 

//Hope he remembers to bring it the next time he's here. Um...did I just say 'next time'?// 

Smiling, he held the bug over the water, let go and watched as it sunk to the bottom, the fish moving to inspect it. Realizing it's not food they abandon it quicker and Mulder chuckled. "Whatever you guys hear tonight it won't be _me_. Wonder if you can translate 'guppy'?" 

Grinning, he critiqued the room. It was dark, shades drawn tight; all the lights off save the glow from the tank. He reached behind it, carefully lowered the new dimmer control then leaned back. Perfect. Someone would have to walk right up to it before they saw _him_. 

He walked over, settled down on the sofa, fingers stroking across the leather. Remembered _far_ too many lonely nights. He should have it cleaned. If he was lucky he might even have a reason to get it bronzed. Maybe the bed as well. 

//Yeah, if I'm _lucky_.// 

Even in the dark he could see the scuffs on the front door, marks he kept adding to every day. He made a mental note to go to the hardware store, find a can of paint and touch it up. Better than paying a repair fee if he ever moved. 

Maybe _when_ he moved. With someone _else_? It would be good. There _was_ safety in numbers. He wanted that. Wanted it enough to give up his job? His life? His...friends? Maybe. It sure wouldn't be easy if he didn't. It would definitely stir up more concerns on how stable old 'Spooky' Mulder was. Nope, not easy. 

Then what in his life _had_ been? 

Skinner would probably fire him, worst shoot him, Scully would simply have him moved to a nice white-walled padded cell. No, man...this wasn't going to be easy. It really didn't do to plan too much. After all, everything hinged on something... _someone else_ and if that someone wanted what he did as well. 

He'd have to wait and see; play out each day as it came but first, he'd need to wave a white flag. He stared down at his pale, naked skin and grinned. Well, who had time to look for a flag? This would just have to do. 

Somehow, he thought it'd do fine. 

As he sat there, two columns of darkness parted the light under the outer door. Mulder heard the sound of clicking in the lock and his eyes brightened. 

//Well, well. Right on time. Maybe I should set _my_ watch to _him_.// 

He leaned back on the sofa, one leg swinging up over the armrest and let his body go loose. Smiled wantonly and counted to five as the door clicked open. 

//Oh, hell yeah! _Really lucky_.// 

He was still smiling when Krycek slipped into the room. 

End? 

* * *

Want more? Then feed me, baby, feed me!! 

My apologies for any font or formatting errors. I got REALLY tired of trying to fix them to some program's specifications.   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Lashala


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